


How To Cure A Hangover (Kinda)

by Ritzy_bird



Series: #Buy Jean An Actual Dildo 2k16 [3]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, Masturbation, Other, Underage Drinking, frustration masturbation, romantic pining, thirst, using a toothbrush as a dildo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-02
Updated: 2016-02-02
Packaged: 2018-05-17 07:37:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,343
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5860018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ritzy_bird/pseuds/Ritzy_bird
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jean wasn't anti-social per say, but he wasn't exactly a party person. Neither was Marco, but somehow they were both convinced to go to a party under the assumption there would be no drugs or alcohol at said party. Jean gets drunk and confesses his feelings for Marco during the night, but maybe Marco is too worried about getting Jean home safe to pay attention? The next day Jean decides to ease his frustrations, confusion, and horrible hangover by masturbating with a vibrating toothbrush.</p><p>Edit: Fixed some issues with the HTML that was deleting chunks of text from the fic.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How To Cure A Hangover (Kinda)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [dollyboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dollyboy/gifts).



> Jean's drunk behavioral state is based off of what I've seen from people who've been drunk before, and I also had lots of help from Kandikyssis (a college student who actually drinks and goes to parties, woo!) from tumblr, so here's to accuracy!  
> Also, AO3 wouldn't register my text unless I wrote in the HTML box setting, which is (part) why this took so long. Because I had to essentially rewrite it and AO3 HTML doesn't always register right either, so I had to slightly change my writing style so that it would work. The salt is real.
> 
> Get the popcorn ready, get comfortable, and take notes kiddies, this's a long one. Like, a really long one. I probably should have made this a multi-chapter fic instead of a long one-shot sequel. Forgive me!!

One of the hardest parts of Jean's sexual and romantic attraction to his best friend, was having to decide when to be honest or when to be vague over the smallest things. Jean didn't like lying to Marco, or anyone really, but he knew there was a certain line friends don't cross with each other. There was a difference between close people who were just friends and close people who were something a little more.

You couldn't just call your best friend a sexy piece of ass and _mean it_. You couldn't offer to share a bed with your best friend and then snuggle up next to them when your bed is a full size. Maybe you could get away with that if you had to squeeze onto a twin sized mattress? Jean even considered down-sizing his bed so that he could try that next time Marco slept over, but he figured with his luck Marco would just see it as an opportunity to bring over a full sized air mattress since there was more room on the floor, and then Jean would be stuck with a piece of shit excuse for a bed.

Then there was the matter of how clingy you could be without it getting weird. Jean had other friends that he talked to and hung out with, but there was no doubt in anyone's mind that Jean always preferred to spend more time with Marco than with anyone else. Even though Armin clearly had the highest grades in Jean's biology class, he chose to study with Marco instead, insisting that he just focused better at Marco's house. Which wasn't only a lie, but it was as far from the truth as it could get. Jean could barely focus on school work when he was with Marco.

His mind just kept drifting to sexual thoughts or romantic fantasies, or Jean would easily let Marco directly distract him with a story or a joke. But tonight was where Jean had to struggle the hardest with his feelings and choice to be honest or not. Marco hadn't had any need to study, and went to go take a shower before his parents finished cooking dinner. At first Jean thought he should do something stupid and perverted and try to use the bathroom while Marco was in the shower, just so he might, just maybe, be able to peek through the side of the shower curtain and look at Marco naked.

But then he realized what a stupid and unfair idea that was and how it would either work and make him feel like shit, or not work and get him in trouble. Either way, it just wasn't going to happen. He'd have to find some other way to look at Marco naked, like, confessing his love for him and hoping that Marco will immediately have sex with him after that. Which was something that Jean believed would only ever happen in porn or trashy romance novels, but considering he wrote a trashy love letter to Marco a month ago, Jean had no place to judge.

Instead Jean was rewarded with something much better than violating Marco's privacy, because where was Marco going to _go_ after he got out of the shower? Back into his bedroom of course, where his clothes were. Where Jean was currently trying to study. He heard the door open and looked up, immediately freezing at the sight. Marco had a towel around his waist of course, but he was dripping wet with water from head to toe, and well, he obviously had no shirt on. Jean gritted his teeth together and inhaled through his nose.

He glanced at Marco's groin and slowly lifted his gaze up, admiring what hair he could see on Marco's lower stomach and chest. Marco always seemed like he'd been gifted by puberty, turning from cute little pumpkin to a mature and sexy young adult in a couple years. All Jean got was acne.

Before Jean got the chance to stare at Marco's nipples and fantasize about playing with them, Marco stepped to the side and tilted his head, "Uh Jean, you kinda need to leave now. I know we're best friends but uh, I don't think we're close enough for me to let you watch me get dressed. It'll only take a minute." Nothing could kill Jean's boner like hearing those dreaded words. Not close enough? Yeah, that's definitely what Jean wanted to be reminded of.

He wasn't about to argue with Marco about how they're totally close enough to see each other naked. How would he even make a compelling argument that didn't sound like he wanted to see Marco naked? Just guys being bros, y'know trusting each other completely, not getting in each other's way when it comes to getting naked? Maybe Jean wasn't the brightest, but he wasn't a complete dumbass. Any argument would be equal to saying "I want to see your genitals because I want to fuck you".

Jean got up and left, and even made sure not to make a disappointed whine either. He did however, take a quick glance at Marco's back on his way out, and Jean couldn't help but smile a little. Marco's shoulder blades, and the way the line of his spine looked, all wet and moist with water, it was just a nice thing to look at. "Nice" was all Jean could think any time he saw Marco shirtless. He wanted to give Marco a thumbs up, a pat on the back, a gentle tap on the ass.

It wasn't like Marco was super muscular, but he did jog, which made his legs absolutely perfect. Jean could stare at Marco's thighs and legs for days and not get tired of them. His legs were just so long and toned and Jean would give anything to see Marco wear shorts more. He would fantasize more often about Marco's legs, but they looked, and felt, better in the flesh. 

Jean knew how strong they were, too, from the time he thought it was a smart idea to tickle Marco and was rewarded with a kick in the neck. It was a terrifying experience that made Jean look at Marco's legs like they were dangerous, but also majestic and graceful creatures that deserved the utmost respect and care. One day, Jean swore he'd give those legs a nice, long massage after Marco got back from jogging, all tired, hot and so sweaty....

"Okay, done!" Marco opened his door again, fully clothed, and Jean had to take a moment to calm down from his fantasies. It was a good thing Marco didn't change into pajama shorts, because Jean probably wouldn't have been able to snap out of it if he got to look at Marco's legs again, dry or not. "Oh, yay. Now I can study more. Wooo." Jean sighed, pretending he was disappointed about the school work rather than his un-satiated thirst for Marco's body. 

Jean walked back into the room and returned to his spot on the floor where all of his notes and text books were scattered. He was lucky that there weren't any major tests coming up in his biology class, otherwise all the night's study would really be for nothing. All he was really doing was monotonously copying down buzz words and phrases in his note books, he wasn't committing anything to memory. 

"When do you think you'll be done studying?" Marco asked, sitting down on his bed and running a comb through his hair. If Jean had been honest, he'd say he was done right then and there since he was just wasting his time. He wasn't really studying, and he wasn't really hanging out with Marco. It was like some sick limbo between productivity and recreation, but it felt necessary for Jean's "cover".

Jean just shrugged, "Probably when your parents are done with food so I have an excuse to stop torturing myself." It wasn't a joke, but Marco thought it was and laughed anyway. If only he knew the struggle Jean was going through. How hard it was to choose between studying and sexually fantasizing about your best friend. He must have been the kind of person who, even if he was interested in someone, wouldn't let it get in the way of school work.

The silence in the room was probably comfortable to Marco, but it was filled with tension for Jean, whose mind was still quietly buzzing with sexual thoughts and the occasional romantic desire. Every few minutes Jean would have to erase what he'd written because instead of sciencey things like "the mitochondria is the powerhouse of the cell", Jean was writing things like, how he wanted to kiss the inner sides of Marco's thighs, and how soft Marco's lips looked.

He licked his own lips, which weren't bone dry but they certainly weren't smooth or soft feeling on his tongue. Maybe if he'd wear some ChapStik more often than just when he was sick and dying, or drank water every day like human beings are supposed to, it wouldn't be an issue. Jean would _never_ be able to give Marco a blow job if his lips stayed like this.

"Hey do you have any like, lip balm or something? I feel like my lips are dying." It didn't matter whether he sounded convincing or not, because Marco was barely paying attention. Marco narrowed his eyes and shook his head, "Uhhh give me a second. I'm watching my green heart event for Lanna and I need to know which option I'm supposed to choose...." 

Jean hadn't even noticed that Marco had started playing on his 3DS, probably because of how intensely concentrated and quiet Marco would get when he played some of his games. "Wait you're looking up the right answer on how to romance someone? That's cheating dude you can't do that, just play the damn game normally, c'mon." Jean didn't understand the point of going through the trouble of romancing a fictional character if you were just going to look up the proper way to do it. That wasn't love at all.

Marco put his phone down and returned his attention to his 3DS, "I _am_ playing the game normally! It- You just don't get it. A good boyfriend would make sure he says the right thing. Right? I mean, I dunno... that's what I'd do if I was dating someone." 

Sometimes Jean wondered if there was someone who Marco was interested in, who he swooned over and dreamed about kissing. Maybe Jean couldn't see Marco as sexually active, but Marco was attractive, and he had freckles. Girls loved freckles. Jean did too but, he was pretty sure girls really loved them. It made sense that Marco could get a date if he wanted, probably. But considering the pathetic, sad way Marco talked about his half-hearted devotion to some sprites on a screen, Jean wasn't too sure.

"You're a real charmer, huh? I bet your 'girlfriend' is just swooning at how well you know her, that you know just what to say no matter what. I can just hear the wedding bells alrea--" Jean was silenced by a pillow to the face, which he hadn't seen coming since he'd returned his eyes to his notes.

He knew Marco loved his weird farming/marriage games but even this was a bit of an over reaction. "Okay, that was _rude_." Jean wasn't all that offended, but he still wanted Marco to know he was being kind of a child about things.

Because Jean definitely would never be childish enough to let emotions over such small things get the best of him. Like throwing a temper tantrum in his room after hearing Marco had a 'girlfriend' only for it to of course be one of the characters in a Harvest Moon game. Jean definitely didn't do anything like that a year ago.

" _You're_ rude! You know I like this kind of stuff. Even if it's not real and I'm cheating it still makes me happy.... So stop making fun of me for it, it makes you look like an ass." Marco sighed, closing his 3DS and setting it on his bedside table. 

Jean was getting surprised everywhere tonight. He'd been nagged by Marco before for mocking Harvest Moon games, but he always did it in a more lighthearted way. Tonight Marco seemed genuinely hurt. Jean panicked, worrying that he'd hit some hidden nerve he didn't know Marco had. Now the idea of googling the right thing to say to your crush didn't seem so cheap.

He didn't know what to say, but luckily Jean wouldn't have to. Someone knocked on the door and then, "Dinner's all ready boys! Remember to wash your hands before you get your food!" It was Marco's mother, and thank goodness she arrived when she did. Jean was shit at apologies, and he had the feeling that Marco might've wanted one.

Marco immediately seemed to brighten up, and Jean could only guess that it was because after dinner there would be pie. Bananas foster pie. Jean still couldn't look at banana-anything the same since he'd used one as a dildo, but he'd be lying if he tried to pretend he didn't find Marco to be extremely cute when he was excited about eating banana desserts.

Dinner wouldn't be filled with any awkward tension between Jean and Marco, because Marco was just too damn kindhearted and forgiving to do something as petty as ignore Jean at dinner. Jean only wished that he liked eating with Marco's family. 

They had the nerve to put spinach and broccoli in with the spaghetti! Who would do something like that? It wasn't like they needed to eat healthy all the time, everyone in Marco's family had some sort of physically taxing hobby they tortured themselves with. But then Jean thought that it was good thing, because as much as Jean was convinced he'd still love Marco if he had some more fat on his body, he loved Marco's lean legs. And then Jean imagined Marco with thicker, softer thighs, and he realized he had a new dilemma to stress about in the middle of the night. 

Still, Jean was barely picking through his food while Marco was shoveling fork fulls into his mouth as if he were eating his last meal. Jean wasn't the only one who noticed it either. 

Marco's mother had a very un-amused look on her face, "Marco you need to slow down, you're going to get sick if you keep eating like that. We have a guest over, stop being such a slob. The pie isn't going to disappear while you're eating dinner." Marco slowly swallowed the spaghetti that was in his mouth, licking the mess of sauce around his lips before sinking in his chair a little. 

"Well, Jean doesn't care, he'd be eating like a slob too if he liked pie...." Marco mumbled before shamelessly taking another huge fork full of spaghetti into his mouth. Jean thought the pout on Marco's face was adorable, too adorable for Jean to go and poke fun at him for being a slut for bananas foster pie. Not that "slut" was the term he'd use in front of Marco's parents. That would be horrible. 

Jean, who didn't want to make it too obvious that he hated the green spinach hell in his pasta, started to force more food into his mouth as Marco's mother looked at his plate. But he couldn't hide now. "You've barely eaten a thing! What's wrong with you boys today?" Marco's mother sounded fairly concerned, but Jean wasn't about to say he fucking hated spinach.

"Oh Mary stop, let them eat however they want. You know they both don't like green things, so be lucky they're eating at all." Marco's father said nonchalantly, earning a shocked gasp from his wife. Immediately, Marco started to shovel more food into his mouth, and Jean followed suit, staring into his plate and refusing to make eye contact with either of the adults in the room. 

Jean would neither confirm or deny his feelings about vegetables, not in the Bodt household. They had a full garden of vegetables in their backyard, meanwhile Jean's family probably consumed half a stick of butter each every day and only got close to maybe, carrots, if they were roasted with brown sugar. It was probably one of the reasons why Marco seemed to prefer hanging out around Jean's house instead of his own. 

Before the tension in the air could become unbearable, Marco finished his food and nearly pushed his chair over getting out of it as he ran towards the kitchen. He came back moments later with a huge smile on his face, and an even larger slice of bananas foster pie on a new plate. How could there be any tension left when a smile like that enters the room?

As cute as Marco was when he ate banana flavored desserts, Jean couldn't bear to watch. Any time Marco consumed something with bananas in it, Jean had to relive his worst sin. But he took a glance at Marco and, upon seeing the sweet smile on his face as he delicately took a bite of the pie, Jean felt himself blushing.

"Uhh excuse me." Jean breathed, turning and getting out of his chair as quickly as he could, seeking the privacy of the bathroom. Boners should not have been easier to hide than blushing, and even then, at least he could pass off boners as just a breeze making himself stiff. But no one blushes unless there's a good reason, and he couldn't have Marco's parents realizing that Jean had a crush on their son. They would tease him to death. 

Jean took a few deep breaths, pinching his arms to try and keep himself from looking like a smiley pink faced idiot. Marco had way too much power over him, and Jean didn't know how to make it stop. He wondered if maybe Marco really did know how Jean felt, and he was just going out of his way to reduce Jean to an emotional heap of trash every day.

His mind drifted to less cute things, and he imagined what it would be like if Marco went down on him as earnestly and happy as he did that slice of pie.... He bit his bottom lip until the dry skin cracked and bled to get the image out of hid mind. It was disgusting to imagine things like that. Marco's parents made that pie. He was about to go back into the room with them, he couldn't compare their pie to his body and then walk back into the dining room with a boner.

* * *

Jean had survived the rest of dinner, which lasted forever because Marco had two more slices of pie after the first one. He was sure that Marco must have regretted it though, because he was laying on his bed looking awfully uncomfortable. "Too much pie?" 

Marco heaved a heavy sigh and closed his eyes, "Never. I could have had more." It was cute that he was acting tough, but Jean knew that Marco was at least a little nauseated. "But, I think I ate a little too fast." Marco scrunched his body up into a ball on his bed and reached for the water bottle on his side table.

"Whaaat? Don't say that too loud, if your mom hears you say that she'll never let you live it down." Jean teased, knowing that Marco hated it when his parents were right about something that he refused to listen to. The only response he got was Marco whining in pain, which Jean couldn't help but find a little arousing. 

Was it bad to find painful sounds kinda sexy? Sure, but to Jean, whether someone's in pain or not, the sound's the same. So it's sort of okay and not creepy at all. It wasn't like Marco was dying, he just had a little stomach ache.

There was a knock at the door, and before Marco could ask who it was, the door slammed open anyway, "You ate _half_ the pie!?" It was Ymir, Marco's usually-never-at-home-ever, loud mouth older sister. 

"I did not eat _half_ of the pie! I had three slices, and why does it matter? There's half a pie left isn't there?" Marco defended himself, making a shooing motion with his free hand. Ymir came further into the room and closed the door, "Yeah one huge fucking slice and 2 normal ones. Then mom and dad had some and now there's only one tiny piece left! I only came home tonight for one thing! Pie!" 

Jean knew that Marco really liked banana desserts, but he didn't realize his sister loved pie so much. He was glad he didn't take a slice, because there was no way in hell he was prepared to face Ymir's anger. No, Jean may have been abrasive and snappy, but people on Ymir's level of aggressiveness intimidated Jean's more sensitive side.

Ymir pulled over one of the chairs in the room and sat down, crossing her arms, "Yeah, whatever. I should have left earlier, I knew you were going to inhale that fucking pie. Anyway, how are you and your uh?" She looked at Jean, "What's your name again? Ah never mind. How're you and your leech doing?" 

Half of Jean wanted to tell Ymir that she should say that to his face, but the other half of Jean recognized that she had in fact been looking at him when she said it, and therefore said it to his face. Yeah, this time Jean would just let Marco fight his battles for him. "Why are you always calling him stuff like that? He's right _there_. We're doing fine, go away." Again, Marco gestured his hand towards the door.

Jean was a little bit bummed that Marco didn't make an effort to ask Ymir to apologize, but normally Marco was warmer to his sister's behavior. He wouldn't be so quick to dismiss her on a normal day, either. 

"Hey, hey, don't be like that! Aren't you happy to see me? I was bein' serious, I want to know how you and your, not a leech, best friend are doing. I've got some news for you both." Ymir continued, and Jean just figured that was the best he was going to get in terms of an apology. He had no idea how sweet, caring, gentle, innocent Marco could be related to someone like Ymir and even look up to her.

Marco didn't seem very interested, but Jean knew that Marco's curiosity would always get the better of him. Maybe Marco could manipulate Jean, but Ymir could say just about anything to keep Marco's attention. Mind games, it's what family's for, right? 

Ymir bent forward on the chair, leaning her arms on her knees, "You've been 17 now for how long? You still haven't dated anyone and you haven't even done anything that exciting since summer, right?" She _sounded_ like she was about to offer them drugs or something, because in Jean's mind, that's the only reason for someone like Ymir to care about some teenagers' uninteresting social lives. 

"I normally wouldn't do this, but my Angelface thinks you've been too boxed up in the house lately so, she wanted me to _insist_ that you go to a little party she's throwing next Saturday." Ymir was referring to her supposed girlfriend, who Jean had never met, seen, or knew the real name of. He was positive that Ymir had made her up to make Marco jealous.

A party? Jean's gut instinct was to say no, because his acne wasn't doing well and he was bad at socializing when he was forced into a situation where socializing was the only option. If Marco wanted to go, fine, but Jean wasn't going to throw himself into a party that Ymir had something to do with.

"Think of all the cute college girls you could meet, Marco! Most girls don't like dating younger guys, but you're tall and mature, sort of, enough for some of the giggling Barbie dolls that'll be there." Ymir winked multiple times in rapid succession for emphasis. But Marco just shrugged, "No thanks. College girls are too old for me."

Girls. Women. Ladies. Not guys. Jean didn't take note of it when Ymir first said it specifically, but hearing Marco say it got his attention. Marco was interested in girls, apparently, at the very least. Ymir must have known what Marco's sexuality was, too. After all, they were siblings, and Marco looked up to her for some reason. Ymir didn't mention anything about cute college boys.

While Jean was silently experiencing a crisis, Ymir continued her little pitch. "Hey, they're not going to be old college girls. I doubt anyone older than say, 23 will be there-- And there will be tons of high school students there too. You know how it is with her, she won't even allow any alcohol. Definitely no drugs, c'mon! My point is, you need other friends than the handful you've made in school. Your Harem Moon wives can't help you with homework in college." 

Marco went wide eyed, "What did you just say!? What is with you people today? It's _Harvest_ \-- You know what just, can you go now Ymir? I'm not going. I'd rather just stay home." Marco turned over in his bed and pulled a blanket over himself. "Goodnight."

Ymir got out of her chair and shrugged, "Ah c'mooon, I was just screwing around with you. You're too sensitive sometimes, honestly. Well think it over anyway! Just don't tell the land lords, I mean mom n' dad, that I told you about it, they'll just say no. You two brats have fun now." She gave a wave to Jean, who wasn't paying any mind to her, and then she was off. 

"So, um.... You don't wanna go check out hot, older chicks?" Jean asked, still more focused on his fears that Marco was straight rather than the party itself. Marco groaned in response, which to Jean could have meant literally anything. What was that supposed to mean? Was that a "I do but my sister hurt my feelings" groan? Did his stomach hurt? Was that meant to be taken as a no? What the fuck was that?

Jean opted for the possibility that it just meant Marco wasn't feeling up to conversation anymore, so he didn't push it. Jean didn't understand Marco's sensitivity towards his relationship building video games, but then again, who would understand why Jean went through un-instigated bouts of extreme affection that made him want to cry over everything? 

It must have been a real punch to the gut to be mocked for wasting time on fake girlfriends twice in the same night, but Jean wouldn't know how that feels. Though Marco wasn't the kind of person who held grudges, at least, not that Jean ever saw. Tomorrow, it'd blow over and Marco probably just wouldn't talk about Harvest Moon for a while. Jean wished he had that kind of ability to just let things go. Instead, Jean was bitter and held onto everything anyone ever said to him.

Taking advantage of the tense atmosphere, Jean got back to studying, and this time he was actually trying a little bit. Only a little bit. For a second he thought he should ask Marco if he wanted to watch a movie, but then he realized he'd probably end up watching Pacific Rim, so he decided against it. Besides, sometimes silence made people happier than doing something they actually wanted to do, that's how Jean coped most of the time. Sulking in a room somewhere, not doing anything. That's healthy, right? Probably?

As time went on, Jean thought that maybe Marco had fallen asleep. It was always strange to him how Marco could sleep with lights still on without covering his head at the very least. But after a long period of quiet, Marco turned around in his bed, looking at Jean. "Do you think I should? Go to the party, I mean."

Jean wanted to say no, but if he was honest with himself? He had no idea. Jean had only ever been to birthday parties, where he already knew almost everyone there. Going to a party where you probably wouldn't know even 5% of the people there seemed like a horrible idea. "I don't know, dude, do you _want_ to go to a party? College kids or no, there'll be girls there anyway so...." 

He didn't like recommending that Marco should go hit on girls, he wanted Marco's affection and flirting all to himself if he could have it. If he could have it. That was the thing, Jean didn't have it. Maybe he'd never have it. Maybe Marco really was only interested in girls?

Marco sat up and sighed, "If I wanted a real girlfriend don't you think I'd be flirting with girls at school more often? I mean for like, making more friends. I'll probably go to a local community college after we graduate so maybe I _should_ make some friends with people who are already in college."

Suddenly all of Jean's doubts and worries about Marco's sexuality were erased. If Marco wasn't thinking about going to hit on girls, then it meant he might be interested in men. Yes, because those were the only two scenarios Jean could believe. Marco was either interested in women and by extension, less inclined to like Jean. Or Marco was interested in men, and Jean just had to build up the courage to tell Marco how he felt and everything would be okay! There was no in between.

"Yeah friends are good." Jean said with a shrug, pretending he wasn't going through an emotional hurricane. Marco tapped his fingers on his legs for a bit, then stopped, staring into space. Jean took the opportunity to stare, since Marco's face was just too adorable when he was thinking. Sometimes Jean thought he should tell Marco that he looked cute when he did certain things, but either Marco would vainly approve, or he'd realize Jean's feelings for him. Jean didn't need either of those awful things in his life.

Marco got off of his bed, "Okay, I'm gonna ask my dad if I can go. Come with me for extra moral support?" He asked, giving Jean his winning smile, or rather his manipulative smile since Jean could rarely say no to it. Jean closed his text book, pushing it away before following Marco out of the room. Why study when he could go watch Marco beg his parents to go out partying? One was clearly more entertaining than the other, even if it meant being put in an awkward situation.

* * *

Unfortunately, instead of being entertained, Jean was treated to a show of secondhand embarrassment. Though it could be considered a kind of entertainment. After Marco had beat around the bush with irrelevant information, and got around to explaining about the party itself to his father, Marco's hopeful smile and Jean's resting bitch face were immediately shut down.

Marco's dad had been in the living room watching some show or another when they'd came downstairs, and it took forever for Marco to actually get his attention. But his dad seemed to be coming around. "So there will be no alcohol? No drugs? Nothing illegal?" Marco's father asked, flicking through some home improvement magazine. Jean could just taste in the air how badly Marco wanted to roll his eyes as he kept pushing for an answer, "For the last time, I said there won't be anything like that!"

"Alright. If there's anything I remember about parties it's that if there's no drugs or alcohol, there's definitely sex. So make sure you bring some of those condoms your mom got for you okay?" Marco's father said it so calmly, like he was talking about the weather, or sports, or photosynthesis, or literally _anything_ but that.

Jean was stunned in embarrassment for having to hear those words come out of a parent's mouth. Something was just freakish and _wrong_ about parents talking about it. Meanwhile, Marco had a look of terror on his face, and it took a moment before the sputtering and alarmed squeaks came out of his mouth. "You can't say that! Oh my god, _you didn't_ just say that in front of my best friend! Dad! Are you listening to me? What's wrong with you!?" 

Marco started touching his face, and running his hands through his hair in embarrassment. Then Marco's mom's voice could be heard from the kitchen, "Sweetie? Are you trying to tell your father what to do?" It was a literal nightmare, but Jean did get to watch Marco squirm emotionally. That was a plus. Seeing him getting slammed by the pressure of embarrassment for once? Good shit. Best thing Jean's seen all week.

"Mom! Stop! D-don't encourage this! Stop it both of you! Jean is _right here_ and he doesn't want, or or or, or need to hear this!" Marco demanded, looking at the kitchen and back frantically. Marco's dad shook his head, "No, no, we're just looking after you. So what if your friend is here? He should know these things too, he is going with you right?" 

Jean figured that Marco couldn't take the shame anymore, because Marco had made one last appalled gasp before turning around and hurrying back up the stairs, "Stop _talking_!" If Jean hadn't also been disturbed by the casual mention of sex, his face would have been filled with joy over seeing Marco so easily humiliated by his parents. "Well now, did your family ever give you the talk?" Marco's father asked as he turned to Jean.

It was funny when Marco was being made uncomfortable by awkward parent-child "practice safe sex and whatnot" talk. Jean did not however, find the possibility of being on the receiving end of that to be nearly as humorous. "I'm just gonna, go upstairs now." Jean mumbled, backing away quickly to go give Marco that "extra moral support" that was asked for earlier.

When Jean got back to Marco's room, he had to fight back the snickering he wanted to let out. Marco was sitting on his bed with a pillow covering his face, which Jean figured was to avoid any eye contact with anyone who wanted to bother him some more. "Uhhh, ah haa, ha ha... So... that went...?" Jean didn't know what to say as he closed the door, all he knew was that he wished Marco was always so easy to embarrass this much.

"I can't believe they did that in front of you!" Marco whined, peeking his eyes out from behind his pillow, "And wipe that smirk off your face, it's not funny!" Jean complied, biting his lip to make himself stop smiling. "Okay, okay man, like I know that was... awful, but, is it true?"

Marco lifted his head up completely, "Is _what_ true?" Jean sucked on the insides of his cheeks, trying his hardest not to laugh. "Your parents bought you a box of condoms? I mean, did they uh, buy you lube too?" Oh, and if only looks could kill. 

"You're dead to me." Marco whispered before burying his head behind the safety of his pillow. Jean wasn't going to continue teasing Marco, but he still wanted to know more about Marco's sexual equipment arsenal. Yeah, that was a good name for it. If Jean ever got around to getting proper sexy time materials instead of using Vaseline and Zip-Loc baggies in exchange for lube and condoms, he'd put them all in a box with that as the label. Brilliant.

Jean started looking around Marco's room, opening drawers, looking through folders, anywhere really. He wanted to see if they were regular condoms, or if Marco's parents went and bought the ridiculous shit like the extra large super ribbed tingly strawberry flavored ones, or something. Jean saw a shoe box on the bookshelf that was in the far corner of the room, and decided to check there next.

As he reached for the lid of the box, Marco noticed where he was and stumbled out of his bed, "Jean, h-hey stop going through my stuff!" Curiosity killed the cat and all that nonsense, right? Jean, hearing the stress in Marco's voice, lifted the lid of the shoe box immediately. He saw, a box of, yup, condoms. A bottle of probably lube. A red piece of paper.

> _For Marco Bodt's Eyes Only_

Not just a red piece of paper, a hand-made red envelope that was sure to have a love letter in it. The one that Jean anonymously wrote to Marco during a time of desperation and gross, weak, petty affectionate feelings. Apparently Marco held onto it.

As quickly as Jean had opened the box, Marco had tripped over a chair just to nearly collide with Jean as he pulled Jean's hand away from the box, letting the lid hide the contents of the box again. Jean was taken aback, blinking as he stared at Marco, who was panting and had a faint blush on his cheeks. Whether that was leftover from the previous teasing, or from what was inside the shoe box, Jean didn't know.

Unable to keep his eyes locked with Marco's, Jean looked back at the box, "Uhm... so, what's in there, then?" His voice was barely above a whisper, not that he noticed it. He was so close to Marco, and even though it wasn't the way or the reason Jean wanted, Marco was holding Jean's hand.

"Condoms!" Marco shouted, letting go of Jean's hand and confiscating the box, "And o-other things. Yeah. Don't go through my stuff, please." Marco turned around and walked back over to his bed, shoving the shoe box underneath it for what Jean assumed Marco considered safer keeping? Jean didn't know, his head was reeling with thoughts and feelings. 

"We should uh, probably get to bed now. Yeah." Marco suggested, as if things were relatively normal. Just another sleep over. Nothing off happening at all. "I'm gonna go brush my teeth." Marco said as he quickly left the room, leaving Jean to overthink things as usual. But there was nothing else for Jean to do, he couldn't ask questions, he couldn't say that he saw what was in the box.

So he tried to act normal, too. Picking up his school supplies and carelessly shoving them all into his backpack, taking out his pajamas from his bag and putting them on. There was a part of Jean that was stupidly giddy about knowing that Marco kept the love letter, but somewhere else in his mind he wondered why Marco would keep it in a box with his condoms and lube.

Should Jean be flattered? Was Marco secretly masturbating to the letter as if it were a porn magazine? Did he have some kind of praise kink? Jean could almost see that being a realistic thing, not that he could ever fantasize about it. He'd always imagined Marco being more assertive and dominant.... 

Marco came back into the room, and things seemed even more "normal". He didn't look the least bit nervous or embarrassed, like he just erased the last couple of hours from his memory or something. Jean couldn't believe how Marco could do it, and he'd give anything to scrub the facade right off of Marco's adorable little face so that he'd know just how Marco was feeling.

Then Marco opened his closet and pulled out the roll-up mattress that Jean always used when he slept over, spreading it out on the floor where Jean had been studying. Jean just couldn't stand air mattresses, they were much too uncomfortable for him. That and, he had a hard time masturbating on something so squeaky.

Jean decided to use the pillow that Marco had tossed at him earlier to sleep with, for completely innocent reasons that definitely didn't involve his intense thirst for Marco's attention. "Uh, you got a blanket I could use?" Jean asked, trying to go along with Marco's attitude. "Of course, here!" Marco smiled and pulled a couple of blankets out from the closet, then tossed them onto the mattress.

There was no way that Jean was going to be able to sleep, but he promised himself he would pretend that he wasn't bothered by what happened, and pretend to fall asleep easily. When Marco turned off the light and lay down on his bed, the most uncomfortable silence had settled into the room.

Neither of them even said goodnight to each other, and Jean thought it was such a shitty way to end the night. He couldn't even say it afterwards, because then it would have just been even more awkward than not saying it at all. Jean stared at the small alarm clock on Marco's bedside table, and waited. And waited. And kept on waiting for what seemed like forever, before he could hear Marco start to snore.

Peace at last. Jean could breathe easy, knowing that he could think about whatever he wanted now and Marco wouldn't be able to interrupt. He sat up and looked at the dark lump on the bed that was obviously, Marco. Jean didn't understand why Marco never told him about the letter if he not only kept it, but put it somewhere other people obviously weren't supposed to be looking.

Jean was, at the very least, hurt. Did Marco not trust him with his feelings? He couldn't have thought Jean would laugh at him for it, right? Unless he knew that Jean wrote the letter, but if that were true, wouldn't Marco have known that Jean knew what the red paper was when he saw it? 

He flopped back down onto the mattress with a huff, closing his eyes and turning so he wouldn't have to look in Marco's direction. He knew that stupid letter was a stupid, horrible idea. It'd ruined his night, and how could he fantasize now that he was too nervous to relax? Such a waste of a sleepover.

* * *

Saturday, party day, mass socialization day, had come. Over the past week, Marco had tried his hardest to convince Jean to go with him, and finally Jean budged when he learned that a dog would be there. Convincing his own mother was as easy as telling her that Marco's parents were letting him go, and parents always trust each other's word for some disturbing, unknown reason. 

Jean was trying so hard to psyche himself up, but he just couldn't. His acne had flared up two days ago, and no amount of Clean and Clear or Maybelline FitMe Foundation could fix it. He was a disgusting wreck with lame clothes and the vocal finesse of an 11 year old doing their first big presentation.

On the bright side, at least his hideous appearance would, in contrast, make Marco look even more attractive. As sweet as Marco was, he did like looking his best when it came to going out in public. Jean never invited Marco to eat at Olive Garden anymore because Marco always took 45 minutes getting ready, as if he were about to go on a date or something. It was ridiculous! Especially since all he ever ate were the bread sticks.

It'd also help if Jean's mother wasn't constantly trying to fix his hair or dictate which clothes he should wear. "Mom you need to cut it out, I'm not going out on a date you don't need to help me decide how to look." He tried to explain for the millionth time, expertly tilting his head away before his mother's hands could mess up his hair.

"Oh but Jeany, you would look so handsome if you let me fix up your hair! You want to meet a nice girl at this party don't you?" His mother insisted, gesturing with her hands as she spoke. She always did that when she got excited about Jean's social outings, and when he was 11, that made him happy. At 16? Not so much. 

"I don't wanna meet some nice girl, I just wanna hang out with Marco and make some new friends!" Jean snapped, turning away and crossing his arms over his chest. In truth, he was really only going for the dog. It didn't excite Jean to know he'd have to watch Marco, the undoubtedly more charming and more attractive person, get all the attention from anyone who cared enough to socialize. 

Jean heard the click of a camera going off and whipped around, "What are you doing!? Stop taking pictures of me I'm not going out on a date, I'm not going to some dance, I'm going to a house with a bunch of other stupid teenagers with nothing better to do!" He yelled, snatching the camera away from his mother. 

It probably broke her poor heart to see her son get so upset over something so small, but Jean didn't care about that. He cared about himself and what he was going to do, or rather, not do, at the party. "You almost never go out to parties Jean, I'm just trying to help make it more special for you. Just remember to be safe, and keep your phone on, and keep your eyes on your drink, and don't go home with anyone you don't know, and--" 

" _Yes_ I know! I know I know I know already! You've told me a dozen times now since I convinced you to let me go to this thing!" Jean interrupted, exasperated and tired enough to just say fuck it and go to bed.

His mother certainly wasn't appreciative of his attitude, though. "Jean, don't you sass me now. I could easily change my mind right now and tell you to go up to your room." For a moment, that actually seemed like a good idea. Marco couldn't be mad at Jean if he couldn't go because of his mom. If Jean flaked out on him, Marco would be understanding but at the same time disappointed. 

Just then, a text arrived from Marco, and Jean felt as if he couldn't back out anymore. "Alright, I'm sorry. Marco's here now though, can I leave?" He tried to sound sincere, but his mother knew better. "You'll be doing the laundry when you get back, but yes, you can go now Jeany. Be safe now, I love you!" His mother gave him a hug and a gentle pat on the back.

Jean pretended he didn't care, because that's just the kind of ungrateful, embarrassed jerk he was. "Got it, love you too, bye." He said as he threw open the front door and left. Jean felt a rush of excitement and dread as he walked towards the beat up car, like when he thinks he'll ride the super tall and intimidating roller coasters at theme parks but then chickens out because he hates the rushing fall after the slow, long, terrifyingly steady chug up the first slope. 

Except he couldn't chicken out from this. But Jean thinks about how there'll be a dog there, and things seem more okay. He didn't have to talk to anybody, he could just pet the puppy and let Marco do the socializing for the both of them. 

Jean opened the backseat passenger side door of the car and slid onto the seat. Marco was sitting on the other side, but instead of greeting Jean like a good best friend would, Marco was staring into a compact mirror. "Hey, Marco." Jean mumbled, slamming the car door shut. "Don't you slam my car door!" Ymir yelled from the driver's seat, shooting Jean a death glare.

"Oh hi. Hey, tell me, do I look okay? Like, do I look good?" Marco asked, turning to Jean with a concerned look on his face. Jean looked Marco up and down and wanted to say that yeah, Marco was one sweet, hot cinnamon bun that was good enough to eat. But straight guy friends don't say that to their straight guy friends. Straight _girl_ friends did, but unfortunately it was considered too weird if he wanted to do that and play it off as a joke.

Jean gave Marco a thumbs down, "You're just as much of a loser as you always look." Sass; The ultimate self defense mechanism. Marco closed his eyes and sighed with relief, "Oh thank god, I look okay then." That's when Jean noticed a smell, "Uhh? Dude what the hell is that? It's awful." It wasn't awful, Jean actually liked it, but he knew it was some kind of perfume so he automatically had to pretend he hated it, because he's an asshole. 

Marco shrugged, "I mean, well, it's just some perfume...." Jean lightly sniffed the air again, and cursed himself for not being able to identify the smell. It was just good, that's all he could come up with. "Oh yeah? I thought you weren't looking to hit on hot older chicks at this party? Change you mind?" Jean teased, reaching over to elbow Marco in the ribs. 

"I don't plan on hitting on anyone, I just, I don't know! Ymir said I should treat this like I was going out on a date, okay?" Marco explained, elbowing Jean back to get him to move away. Ymir said nothing confirming or denying Marco's statement, which Jean thought was weird. He thought she would brag about caring so much about her little brother or something stupid like that. 

Jean leaned on the door, watching the cars next to them to pass the time. After all, he had to conserve his mental energy. Whether he wanted to or not, Jean knew that at least someone at the party was going to talk to him. Whether to tell him to just get out of the way or to strike up a conversation. Either way, Jean needed the strength to survive that much social interaction from strangers whose only goals were to talk to each other. 

"I'm glad you decided to come, Jean. I know you didn't want to, but I mean, if we get bored or something we'll be able to talk to each other and not look like, I dunno, weird outcasts?" Marco said as he scooted closer to the middle seat. Jean turned, "Hm? Oh I'm just going because of the dog. You can talk to people if you want, I'm rubbing that dog's belly the whole time and that's it." 

Marco laughed at that and returned to his side of the backseat, "Ohhh, okay. I get it. No need to spend time with your best friend, no you just wanna pet the cute little puppy dog. I see how it is." Jean shrugged, "Well I mean, yeah. Friendship, or dogs? Dogs win. Every time. No questions." 

"Yeah," Marco nodded, "I guess dog is man's best friend before man is man's best friend?" Jean breathed exaggeratedly, "Ohh thank goodness! Does that mean we don't have to be best friends anymore?"

"Well yeah I mean, door's right there, Jean." Marco played along, reaching over Ymir's seat to press the "all un/lock" button for the doors. Ymir immediately smacked Marco's hands away and pressed the button again, "Do _not_."

Jean didn't even try to hold back his laughter, "Wait wait, what would you have done if I actually did just, open the door? What were you going to do then, huh?" As fun as it was, Ymir shut down the fun train, "We'd get into a damn car accident that's what we'd all have done. Sit back and shut the hell up for the rest of the car ride or I'm turning this car around and dropping you both off on a highway!" 

That shut up their snickering immediately. But after a few minutes of silence Marco leaned over to Jean and whispered, "I think, maybe I'd just scream? That'd be terrifying but I guess that's something you might actually try just to prove you _could_." Jean narrowed his eyes, offended, "You think that low of me? I'm that dumb, huh?" 

Marco nodded and leaned away a little, "I don't _think_ you're dumb, I _kno_ \--" Jean pushed Marco away from him and was about to create some kind of comeback, but Ymir slammed on the brakes. "Both of you get out! Five streets up, turn left, you're there." 

Jean was honestly shocked, and turned to Marco to see how he was reacting to his sister's crazy temper. But Marco only crossed his arms and gave Ymir the evil eye back, "I'll tell mom it's your girlfriend's party and that you told me not to say you had anything to do with it. I'll be grounded but, she'll probably turn your phone off for a while, or increase the rent you pay, or stop doing your laundry every other Sunday...." 

Ymir breathed out of her nose aggressively for a few minutes before speeding down the road. Jean sunk in his seat, nervous and intimidated, a little bit afraid of what would happen if she slammed on the breaks of the car again. "We're here. _Now_ get out. You can both walk home." Ymir hissed through clenched teeth, unlocking the doors. Jean practically fell out of the car he left so fast, and as soon as Marco followed, Ymir sped off. 

Jean looked at Marco, nervous, "So, why did you piss your sister off? I, I mean I would have been fine walking. I don't like walking... I hate walking, but I don't, I did _not_ like that. At all."

Marco sucked in his lips for a second before letting out a breath. "I didn't think she'd get so mad, Jean, I'm sorry. I didn't go out of my way just to make her angry, I just didn't like that she was being so rude about it. She's the one who told us to come to this party, she can't just drop us off in a neighborhood we've never been in and make us walk the rest of the way." 

Jean supposed that Marco had a good point, and it wasn't Marco's fault that Ymir was so aggressive and easy to anger. Jean looked down and noticed that Marco had grabbed his hand. "We should look for that dog, I heard it's one of those hellish corgi mutts that are really fat and low to the ground." Of course, Jean couldn't say no to a suggestion like that.

All Jean could do was try his best to ignore all of the people inside the house, which seemed a lot larger on the inside than the outside let on. But maybe that was Jean's nerves stretching the truth in front of his eyes. It wasn't like going to the mall, where there were hundreds of people but you could just ignore most of them. No, this was a tight knit space made just for interacting with others. Like school, except Jean definitely wasn't learning anything useful.

But as Marco carefully tried to weave him and Jean through the house, asking people about the dog, Jean realized that Marco's grip on his hand was getting tighter. Maybe Marco wasn't holding Jean's hand to make Jean comfortable after all. That or, Marco was afraid of Jean getting lost in the crowd. Yeah, Jean would go with that one. Much cuter.

"Excuse me, um, do you know where the dog is?" Marco asked a girl mindlessly stuffing pretzels into her mouth. She stopped chewing and swallowed all the food in her mouth, chewed or not, "Upstaaairs maybe?" Jean didn't like how unsure she sounded. A yes or no would have been just fine. 

Jean let Marco pull him through and around the house again, and then up the stairs. There were a lot less people on the second floor, which seemed to kick half of the tension out of Jean's body. Marco even loosened his grip on Jean a little, and it felt less like a death grip and more like a gentle, romantic gesture. Just like Jean had always fantasized about.

At the end of the hall, there was a door with a large piece of paper taped onto it. 

> DOG inside, DO NOT let him out!! 

Marco turned to face Jean and smiled, "I told you there would be a dog!" If Jean hadn't been so nervous and stunned by his surroundings he would have had a hard time looking Marco in the eye right then. Marco was always cute, but he was the cutest when he was smiling and happy and his eyes lit up like pretty little marbles in the sun. Jean could never think Marco would lie about something like a dog, anyway, so Marco had no place to be smiling like an idiot. 

Jean slowly opened the door and slipped in as quickly as he could, not sure how big or small or fast the dog was. He didn't want it to get by him while he was coming in, he'd feel like the worst if the poor thing ran away. Literally the worst. He'd probably break down and cry right there. Marco followed closely behind him, having to open the door wider to fit through before immediately shutting it. 

The room was about as small as Marco's was, but without a closet. Jean had no idea what anyone would use such a small room for, but then, he figured it was a pretty good room to stick a dog in during parties. And there in the corner of the room was the precious jewel. A lump of cream fur on the ground. That had to be the dog! And Jean was so damn excited that he'd get to pet it. 

Jean slowly stepped towards the lump on the ground, crouching down to pick up a little rubber ball. "Uh, hey puppy. Fetch?" Jean asked, tossing the ball across the room. Immediately the mushy lump of fur stood up, opening its eyes and wagging its little tail. Oh yeah, Jean was glad he agreed to come to the party. This dog was amazing already.

He gently brought his hand towards the dog's face, afraid it might get scared and bite him if he wasn't careful. The dog didn't seem to care at all, so Jean reached for its collar, turning it in his hand to see if there was a name on it anywhere. "Oh my god," Jean gasped, gently bringing his hand back to his mouth. He turned and looked at Marco, "Its name is _Sprinkles_ , that's amazing."

"That's a pretty good name for a dog, I guess, yeah. I'm gonna go get some drinks, okay? Do you want anything else?" Marco asked, his stupid big, adorable smile still plastered to his face. Jean shook his head, and Marco left with a wave. It was a little intimidating to be left alone, even if it was only for a little while, but Jean had the dog to keep him company, so he'd be fine.

Jean held up a squeaky toy that vaguely resembled some kind of rodent, and squeezed it a few times before throwing it behind him. He watched Sprinkles quickly try to run after it, his little feet slipping on the wooden floor as he ran. The dog waddled and fell over as it bent down to grab the toy in its mouth, before clumsily skate/running back over to Jean to drop the toy next to him.

Biting his lip to contain his excited squeals, Jean took his cell phone out from his back pocket and turned the camera on. He was going to video tape this majestic, precious little canine beast. "Who's a good puppy?" Jean asked, despite the fact that he could see the dog's graying muzzle, making it not a puppy at all. Sprinkles gave a soft woof, before spinning around clumsily when Jean threw another toy. 

The next time Sprinkles brought the toy back Jean started to scratch behind its ears, "You're such a cute puppy! Yes you are, aren't you? Who's a good puppy? You are!" Jean took more pictures of Sprinkles, posting a few on Facebook just in case his mom was wondering what kind of stuff he was doing at this mysterious party. 

Then Jean was given the holy honor of rubbing Sprinkles' belly, which was quite soft for such an obviously aging dog. But Jean thought about the size of the house and figured the owners must use only the best of puppy shampoos to keep Sprinkles' fur as soft as possible. If only Jean had a dog of his own, then he wouldn't have to come to this party. But, Jean also thought that, if he had a dog of his own he wouldn't get the opportunity to see so many other puppies and rub their bellies. 

"Sprinkles!" Jean called, holding a rope toy a few inches above the dog's head, "Get the rope! Go on jump, get the rope Sprinkles!" Jean wiggled the rope a little to try and entice Sprinkles further. Sprinkles tilted his head and gave another gentle woofing sound, then whined and tilted his head to the other side. Jean gasped, feeling like the scum of the Earth. 

Of course Sprinkles couldn't jump, he was an older puppy! And his teeth were probably weak from old age, too, so it wouldn't be much of a tugging game either. To make up for his sins? Jean tossed the rope across the room and waited for Sprinkles to scamper across the floor to get it. Yes, this was an excellent way to spend his Saturday night. 

And that was all Jean did for a while, throw some toys, pet Sprinkles or rub Sprinkles' belly, take pictures and videos, rinse and repeat. It was great! He could do this for hours, and if Sprinkles got tired? He'd just rub Sprinkles' belly, or take more videos! There was no way Jean could lose. 

Then the door opened, and Jean turned around in excitement, "Oh hey Marco y--" Jean's excitement completely drained out of him as he realized that Marco wasn't the one who opened there door at all. It was some woman, holding a leash in her hand. "Haha, ahh, I'm not? Whoever that is. I'm here to take Sprinkles out for his nightly walk." She made a forced smile and shook the leash in her hand. 

Sprinkles excitedly shot up from the spot on the floor he'd been resting, running straight over to the woman. She bent down and wrapped her arms around Sprinkles, heaving the fat dog up over her shoulder. "Woo! He's so heavy haha, ah, well um, we'll be gone for a while so maybe you should go enjoy the party a little? The food's free y'know." Her laugh, her smile, her friendly tone of voice were all so forced and strained. That or, Jean was imagining things again. 

Either way, Jean was now left alone, and dog-less. Where the _fuck_ was Marco? Jean didn't want to jump to conclusions, but a dozen horrible scenarios started formulating in his brain. Marco ditched him and went home? Marco found a cute girl to talk to? Marco was doing drugs in the basement? 

Jean took a deep breath to try and calm himself down, he knew he had to stop thinking like that. It wasn't even like he really believed most of the wild ideas he thought up, his brain just made them and shoved the thoughts into Jean's forefront mind like an annoying child old who thinks their art skills are amazing and shows everyone just because their mom said they were talented. Like Jean, when he was 8. 

Uncomfortable with the idea of waiting in the small dog room until the woman and Sprinkles came back, Jean decided to willingly brave the sea of people throughout the house in search of Marco. If Marco wasn't either dying or petting an animal outside, Jean was going to flip. He hadn't even realized it either but, he was kind of thirsty. Jean wondered how long he'd been playing with Sprinkles, but he didn't want to butcher his self esteem by checking the time. 

Marco was supposed to bring him a drink, if he wanted to go socialize afterwards that was fine with Jean but it was just the polite thing to do to actually bring your best friend a drink after you offer them one. It didn't matter now though, Jean would just have to fend for himself. 

Jean remembered the girl who had been eating pretzels earlier, and figured the kitchen must have been somewhere near there. Drinks would be in the kitchen, or at least a sink would be. Maybe Marco would be too? Maybe there was just a line to get drinks. Yeah that was it. 

Despite feeling like he was in everyone's way, no one had bothered him yet. Jean had been looking through every room to see if Marco was there, but he hadn't spotted him yet. Jean did make his way to the kitchen and, surprise surprise, Marco was not stuck in some kind of drink line. Nope, Marco wasn't there. There were barely any people in the kitchen besides those who passed through to grab cups. 

He was defeated, but at least he could get his own drink now. There was a large table with all kinds of snacks, and a huge array of pitchers with what Jean assumed was juice. There were no bubbles, so it was either flat soda, or juice. Or worse; Kool-Aid. Jean was only going to find out one way though, and that wasn't by simply asking someone. No, that would've been too much trouble. 

Jean grabbed a plastic cup off a stack and poured whatever was in the red pitcher into it. He took a sip and his face scrunched up in disgust. It wasn't juice or flat soda. It was overly sugared Kool-Aid. Jean wanted to throw up and find whoever was in charge of this party to give them a stern screaming at. You don't serve disgustingly sugary Kool-Aid at a party for teenagers and adults. You serve fucking juice and soda. You don't put a bunch of sugar in Kool-Aid and pretend that can be excused as a party drink. 

Hoping that Marco would at some point come back into the kitchen to finally get Jean his drink, Jean decided he'd just stay in the kitchen, munch on chips, and avoid anyone that was more attractive than he was. 

Jean now understood why the girl from earlier must have been so feverishly stuffing pretzels down her throat, just being at a lively party was draining. Hearing other people talk to each other and laugh and just enjoy each other's company in general. It was so simple and yet Jean felt like he hadn't been invited. 

All he could do was eat chips, and refill his cup of lies as he slowly wandered around the house in circles like a piece of trash floating around in a river of not-trash. And he knew that part of socializing meant actually being the one to initiate conversations, but Jean didn't really want to do that either. How did he make friends again? Jean didn't know. How did he meet Marco? Jean didn't remember that either. 

It was only worse that Jean couldn't tell who was a teenager and who was in college. It frightened him to think he could try talking to someone his age, only to find out they're actually 8 years older than him or something. If it were as easy as separating attractive people from less attractive people, then Jean would be okay. But Marco was really attractive, so, that ruined the equation. 

. 

"Oh hey, you!" Someone tapped on Jean's shoulder, and Jean resisted the urge to shrink away from being so uncomfortable. He turned around and, immediately, the cute brunette girl who'd bothered him drew her hand away. "Oh. You're... you're a lot cuter from behind...." She whispered, looking away nervously.

Normally Jean might've called her a bitch, because that was a bitchy thing for someone to say to, well anyone. But Jean felt like nodding, "Yeah. Yeah, true. Well I mean, you should see me without make up on. Really uglier than now." The girl awkwardly laughed, turned and walked away. But hey, it made Jean feel happy to know that at least from behind he looked good.

. 

Jean eventually made his way back around to the kitchen for, what, how many times had it been? The fact that Jean never really bothered to check upstairs for Marco made his search area rather small despite the grand size of both the back yard and first floor of the house. 

He thought it might be a good idea to stop gorging himself on snacks, since it was just making him thirstier and all there was to drink was shitty Kool-Aid, or water. Jean wasn't gonna drink water, no way. First he'd been eating so much because he was nervous, now he was just bored. Where in the fucking hell did Marco go, and why wasn't he back yet?

.

Jean was looking around frantically now, not sure how many hours had passed since he started looking, "Hey? Marco!? Hey uh, you see a guy named Marco? He's really cute, he's got freckles? No?" Jean was so worried now he was actually going out of his way to talk to everyone he passed by. Someone had to see? Right? Marco was so cute, Marco was just, absolutely gorgeous, who wouldn't have noticed him? 

Jean stumbled out onto the front porch of the house, widening his eyes as much as he could make them go, searching for Marco again. "Marco! Hey! Marco where have you _been_?" Jean called out as he spotted Marco on the far side of the lawn. It only took, whatever many minutes or hours had passed, to find him! And now he did! It was like a where's waldo, but it was Marco.

Marco looked up, and gave a little wave to Jean. It made Jean so, so happy. Marco was back now! "Why'd you ditch me? I looked alll over for you! I couldn't, I...." Jean stopped as he got closer to where Marco'd been standing with a few other people. He didn't feel very good, but he didn't know why. Marco was with him again, he shouldn't have been upset. He should have felt amazing! And he did, but something just wasn't right. 

Jean stumbled onto the ground, barely supporting himself with his arms, and threw up. Marco ran over immediately, "Oh, god Jean what the hell happened to you? You okay? What'd you eat?" Marco was talking, and he was concerned probably, maybe. It was a possibility. But Jean wasn't listening, he was just feeling his throat burn from all the stomach acid and barely digested pretzel and tortilla chip pieces that had just assaulted his throat.

It was so _painful_ , Jean had no idea why. "Wh... I had the pretzels? I-- N-no why do you even care? Where _were you_? I looked," Jean lifted his head up, waving his hand around vaguely, " _Everywhere!_ I was alone. Why?" Jean asked, wiping the spit and leftover vomit from his chin. 

Whoever Marco was talking to before, they were saying things and Jean didn't care to listen to them. But Marco ignored them and tried to help Jean stand, "I'm sorry Jean I got distracted, what were _you_ doing? Were you drinking alcohol? Jean? Jean talk to me." Distracted? What kind of excuse was that? Distracted. Bullshit. 

"How can you ask me something like that!? I don't, I don't _drink alcohol_ I'm a good person, I'm not drinking I-I was looking for you! Asshole! You just, you just left you didn't come back, you didn't... you didn't come back with a drink." Jean tried to organize his thoughts and put them into words, but he was just so sick feeling, and upset with Marco for leaving him alone like that. 

Jean started crying, resting his head on Marco's shoulder as he did so. So yeah maybe Marco was an asshole for leaving him but he was there now, Marco could be forgiven. "Don't, don't leave me like that! Why'd you have to do that? I'm, I'm your best friend right? Right? Marco! Hey! I'--" Marco pushed Jean away from him, holding him still. "Yes, Jean, I...? Oh my god, Jean you're drunk. Jean tell me what you had to drink, please. How much did you have!?"

Jean squinted and shook his head, "I didn't! I'm not, okay, I just had, I had the gross, shitty garbage fucking... The Kool-Aid, Marco! You didn't get me anything! I'm not drinking alcohol, my, my mom would kill me! I don't want that why would I want that? Marco why would I want somethnnh...like that?" Jean felt his stomach twist, and he tried to move away from Marco, but he didn't get very far.

It wasn't nearly as much vomit as the first time, but it did get on Marco's knees. Marco scooted away from Jean and practically ripped his jacket off, trying to use it to wipe off as much of the vomit as possible. "Jesus Christ, Jean, you're drunk! What Kool-Aid? Where'd you get it? Jean? Are you okay?" Marco was trying and failing miserably at getting answers out of Jean, who at that point was just sobbing uncontrollably. 

"You hate me! You fucking hate me, don't you? Shit, you do, fuck. Fuck. I didn't want to drink alcohol I swear, I'm sorry I'm so sorry, please, don't, don't tell my mom! Marcoo, Marco I'm _sorry_ don't hate me." Jean cried, hiccuping and having a hard time breathing steadily. He was so confused, he honestly didn't think he'd done anything wrong. But Marco sounded so upset, and he insisted that Jean was drunk. Marco would never lie to him. 

Marco didn't seem to know what to do, taking out his phone and frantically scrolling through something. He held his phone up to his ear, "Hey Ymir? Please pick up okay I think Jean's drunk and he's not making any sense and he's throwing up and I don't know what to do!" 

Jean looked up from his nice sobbing spot on the ground, "Why're you callin' Ymir? She's mean! She's, she's an annoying _bitch_!" Marco gave Jean a glance before calling another number. Jean didn't know how to take the way Marco had looked at him, and he assumed the worst. Marco must have hated him.

Jean slowly got back into a sitting position, and he gasped, looking at the ground, "Oh.. Oh my god, _I'm_ an annoying bitch, aren't I? Oh my god... I'm so dumb. I'm so stupid I'm a fuckin asshole huh? God, god damnit so dumb." Jean started to cry again, this time heaving heavier than before. 

Marco held his phone up to his ear again, "Uhm, can you promise not to yell at me? ...N-no I uh, well I think Jean's drunk? He threw up and-- Why are you yelling at me!? Dad! I'm sorry I didn't know there was alcohol, I thought there wouldn't be any! I don't even know where he got it! Jean's throwing up and he can't breathe, and he's just saying all these things I, I... I don't know what to do and I'm scared, okay! Should I call an ambulance?" 

Jean moved closer to Marco, laying his head down on Marco's lap before continuing his sobbing. Parties were a bad idea, Jean would never go to another party again. He should stick to spending time with Marco, alone, that was just the way things should have been. 

At some point Marco put his phone down and tried to get Jean to sit up. "Okay, Jean, things are gonna be fine, alright? It's okay, I don't hate you, I promise. And, you're not an... annoying bitch. Please just try and calm down?" Marco tried to force himself to smile, but even Jean could see how fake it was. 

Jean started to cry even more, "You liar! You're such, a good friend saying that Marco. Oh my god you're my best friend, you're the best, you know all the right things to _say_ but I know you're jus' lying for me." 

Marco leaned back and tried to wipe the mess of tears off of Jean's face, "I'm not lying. You just need to relax okay? We'll go home soon and then you can get some sleep, don't worry about anything right now, o-okay? Can you just try to do that at least until my dad picks us up?"

Jean would have done anything Marco asked of him, but he was too confused and emotional to even try to "relax". It only made Jean cry harder, feeling like he couldn't do one little thing that Marco had asked so nicely. Why was it so hard to calm down? He heard Marco say it, that Jean must have been drunk, that he drank alcohol. But Jean vaguely thinks back and doesn't remember drinking anything like alcohol.

"I, I really didn't drink anything, Marco, please? Please believe me I'm not lying I wouldn't lie to you. I can't, I don't wanna go to jail!" Jean sobbed into Marco's lap, not even noticing the vomit he was laying on. "Momm will kill me, she'll be so _mad_ Marco don't tell her!" Jean wasn't cut out for jail, or his mom being angry at him. She told him to stay safe, there was nothing safe about throwing up and crying and clinging to Marco like a three year old.

Well, maybe it was safe to stay close to Marco. Maybe if Jean hadn't been so eager to play with a dog instead of following Marco around the party the whole time, Jean wouldn't be in this situation. Marco would keep Jean safe, away from alcohol, like a model, not criminal like Jean was now. Jean felt like any minute, there'd be sirens and the police would come and drag him away. Away from Marco. That'd be the worst.

Marco started running his fingers through Jean's hair, and Jean absolutely _loved_ that. Had Jean not been an over emotional, confused mess, he'd be in heaven. At the very least, it was sort of helping Jean calm down. There were moments where Jean would just start crying more for no reason, only to slowly settle down again. 

Jean could feel pain again and knew he probably was going to throw up, but he didn't have enough energy or room to move so he had no choice but to just, let it happen. Immediately as Marco realized what happened, he yelped pushed Jean away from him, "Oh that's, ughhh." Marco's jacket could wipe off the worst of it, but Marco's legs and knees were now both soaked with red vomit. Had Jean not mentioned that he drank Kool-Aid, people might have thought he was throwing up blood. 

"Okay, Jean let's just, let's go wait over there, okay?" Marco asked, putting his phone in his pocket before trying to get Jean to stand. Marco might have had strong legs, and maybe he ate healthy, but picking up 140+ pounds of near dead weight couldn't have been very easy. Especially, since Jean was wobbling on his legs when he tried to get up. 

As soon as Jean successfully stood up, he tripped and collapsed forward onto Marco. Luckily Marco was trying to hold him up anyway, his arms now wrapped around Jean's waist. Again, Jean would have been loving it if the circumstances were different. "You're so strong," Jean muttered, not making any effort to stand on his own again. "Carry me?"

"What? Jean you weigh a _ton_ I can't carry you. Try to stand up, please? You're so, ugh, heavy!" Marco was struggling to balance on his own with Jean leaning on him the way he was. Jean gripped Marco's shoulders then tried, and failed, to stand again. Marco, no longer able to keep Jean up, let him slowly slip out of his arms and back onto the ground again. This was a disaster. _Jean_ was a disaster.

Jean whimpered before burying his face into his arm, "Just leave me here!" It definitely wasn't fair that Marco would have to go out of his way to help Jean. No, it just wasn't right. Jean should never be a burden to Marco. Jean should only be around if he's doing something to help Marco, not to make life difficult for him. 

Marco shook his head and knelt back down on the ground, "You're such a drama queen. C'mon you don't want all these people staring, right? We'll just walk a few feet over there, away from the front door, and, we'll just wait there, okay?" People? Jean didn't care about other people. He only cared about Marco, who else was there that mattered? No one, that's who.

But he did want to make Marco happy. "Okay. Okay. Yeah, okay." Jean whispered, trying to stand again. Marco helped him up, and Jean made a better effort to not trip and fall another time as he dragged/walked away from the house, leaning on Marco for extra support. 

As they reached their more quiet, private destination, Jean plopped straight back onto the ground. Marco followed suit, though perhaps with a little bit more grace. Jean turned and look at Marco, who looked pretty damn gorgeous. Gorgeous in Jean's mind, anyway. Jean saw the moonlight on Marco's perfect face, the light sparkling in his eyes, his freckles like little itty bitty stars. 

Of course, Marco looked stressed and the smell of vomit was still lingering in the air since it'd gotten all over both their clothes. But Jean wasn't focused on that. "You're so _cute_." Jean whispered, leaning on Marco's shoulder and holding onto Marco's shirt. "I'm just glad you're... okay, Jean." Marco sighed, pulling Jean's hand away and holding it next to him. More hand holding. Nice.

It was more quiet now, and Jean could smell whatever perfume it was Marco had on. Sure, he could also smell the vomit mingling with the scent but, Jean could ignore that. Marco smelled so nice. Marco just _was_ so nice, taking such good care of Jean. He deserved a medal! Jean would make a medal, no, a trophy for him when he got back home. That'd be the best thank you ever. 

Jean's not so romantic gestures and thoughts were sadly cut short when a car pulled next to them, and Marco let go of Jean's hand and stood up. "Okay, my dad's here. Uh, he's kind of upset but it'll be alright." Jean noticed that Marco had reached his hand down, probably to help Jean up, but all he could do was stare at Marco's precious little nervous face. Jean didn't even register the part where Marco mentioned that they were, probably, most likely, definitely, in a world of trouble. 

Marco must have been tired of waiting, because he crouched down and tried to grab both of Jean's hands to pull him up that way. It worked, but not without Jean stumbling and nearly crashing straight into the car side door. Luckily, Marco was there to steady him, opening the door for Jean like a proper gentleman.

Jean was helped into the seat, and even buckled up by Marco. If he weren't drunk, Jean might've felt like a petty child for being so incapable, but as Jean was now? He was just glad that Marco was there to help him. Marco even put the child locks on Jean's door before closing it, probably so that Jean wouldn't accidentally unlock and open the door during the car ride. 

The second that Marco had gotten into the other side of the car and closed the door, they were given an ear full from Marco's father. "You told me that there wouldn't be alcohol at this party! Then you wait, _hours_ before calling to tell me there was alcohol! And you let Jean get drunk enough to start vomiting. I'm disappointed in you, son, and you're grounded. For a month!" 

Jean wasn't paying attention, but Marco looked absolutely mortified. "What? Wait wait _what_!? I told you I didn't know there was alcohol! And Jean, he wasn't even with me the whole time! _Neither of us_ had any idea he was getting drunk until he found me! Dad you can't ground me for this, i-it-it's not my fault! I swear, I wouldn't have even gone to the stupid party if I knew there was alcohol! I didn't even drink any!" 

Marco's father continued, "You're grounded because this is definitely your fault. You weren't with Jean the whole time? You could have stopped him and called earlier if you two had stayed together. You know his mother called us to make sure the party would be alright? How do you expect your mother and I to explain to her that we let her send her son off to a party where he got wasted? So yes, it is your fault, and you're grounded for an entire month. Don't argue." 

Jean noticed that Marco looked like he was about to cry, and he shuffled to the side a little, sliding his left hand across the seat to poke Marco's thigh. "Heyyy, don't cry. You said, you said 'it'll be okay' so it's okay." Marco glanced at Jean's hand, and then at Jean, before squeezing his eyes shut and then wiping away his tears. "Okay, fine it's my fault, but can Jean sleep over?"

"His mom's going to kill him even though he didn't do anything wrong! Just so that he can calm down before explaining himself tomorrow? Please? She'll freak out if we bring Jean home like this, it's better if he's sober first, right? Right?" Marco pleaded, not seeming to care that Jean was poking his thigh repeatedly. 

Jean gasped and pulled his hand away, "You mean, I can sleep over? Oh, oh my god Marco you're so nice! Oh my god you're so nice to me that's so sweet. You know," Jean started to tear up again, "Marco you are, my best friend in the _whole world_ you know that? God I just," Jean took a deep breath and looked into Marco's eyes. "I just love you so much, okay?" 

The car was silent for a few moments, and while Jean had meant what he said in a very romantic way, Marco's face still looked plastered with worry and dread. He didn't look shocked or happy or disgusted, or confused or embarrassed, or _anything_ different. It was disappointing for Jean.

Marco's father broke the silence, "Fine, he can sleep over. But tomorrow I'm driving you both back to his house and you will explain to Jean's mother how you lied to your parents and then dragged her son away to a party with alcohol and who knows what else." Jean couldn't tell if the look in Marco's eyes was relief or dread. Jean did know, however, that Marco would look cuter if he'd stop pouting. 

Then, Jean felt pain in his stomach again, and he started to breathing through his mouth in an attempt to calm down a little. Marco noticed and bent down, looking through the trash that cluttered the floor of the backseat before pulling up and old Wendy's bag and handing it to Jean. "Hey if you're gonna throw up again, do it in this." 

Jean looked at Marco for a second, before immediately pulling the bag to his mouth and heaving into it. He felt like he needed to vomit, but there just wasn't anything left in his stomach to throw up. It was painful and he kept drooling into the bag instead, but he kept his face in it anyway. It smelled like grease, and that just made Jean want to vomit even more. 

* * *

The rest of the car ride was filled with an awkward silence that was only interrupted by Jean's occasional whining and heaving. When they returned to Marco's house, Jean again couldn't walk properly on his own without Marco there to balance him. Then there were the stairs, ohhh the stairs. It took forever to get up the stairs, because Marco was so worried Jean would slip and fall that he would only let Jean walk up one step before waiting to make sure Jean had his balance. 

When they finally reached the top after what felt like forever, Jean followed Marco to his room. Marco let Jean sit on his bed, and then turned to leave, but Jean wasn't up for that. No way, he wasn't going to let Marco leave, not now. "Where d'you think you're going!? Don't, don't leave me again." Jean hadn't meant anything serious, but Marco looked hurt by his words. 

"I'm just going to get you something to drink, okay? I'll come back this time. You're probably dehydrated." Marco explained, looking around the room for a moment. "Annnd, I'm gonna get you a bucket just in case you need to, y'know." Jean didn't understand what Marco meant and tilted his head to the side, "Mmm, pee?" It was poor taste to laugh at someone who was so confused and vulnerable like Jean was, but Marco let out a short laugh anyway. 

"No Jean, I meant if you need to throw up again not use the bathroom. Please do not pee in my room." Marco left after that, and Jean took in his surroundings. He was in Marco's room again, on Marco's bed. Would he be able to sleep there? Would Marco sleep _with him_? It was too good to be true!

Moments later, Marco came back with a glass of water and an empty trash can. First he set the trash can next to the bed, and then he handed Jean the glass of water. Jean looked down at it and scrunched up his nose, "Ughhhn. No! I hate water." He tried to set the cup down on the side table, but his hand was wobbly and he nearly spilled it. Marco must have seen it coming, because he grabbed the cup as it started to tip, "Jean! Careful, alright? You have to drink this, it'll help." 

Jean shook his head and leaned back into the bed, "Uh-uh." Marco scoffed, pushing the glass in Jean's face, "Yes _uh_ , you do! Jean you're going to thank me in the morning. Now drink this, and then we can get you into some clean clothes." As Marco said that, he looked down at his own filthy pants. Two inches a little to the right, and Jean would have made an even bigger ass out of himself earlier.... 

Reluctantly, Jean took both of his hands and brought the cup to his lips. Water was so disgusting, Marco could have at least brought him some soda, or fruit juice. The real kind, not Kool-Aid lies. Jean was still pretty upset about that. 

As he was struggling to swallow the water, Marco was digging through his dresser and pulling out a bunch of clothes. Jean didn't understand why Marco was grabbing so many, but then he recalled the fact that he'd thrown up on Marco multiple times. Marco was such a good person for not hating Jean for that. Unless of course he did hate Jean, but that probably, hopefully wasn't the case.

"I'msorry," Jean slurred, lightly gesturing towards Marco's pants. Marco only shrugged, tossing a set of clothes onto the edge of the bed. "Clothes can be washed. I'm gonna go change, I'll be right back. If you can't put the cup down just hold it until then, okay?" Marco gave Jean one of his precious, genuine smiles. It made Jean too dazed to respond.

Jean waited a while, sipping water from his cup every now and then, before getting sick of the taste and trying to put the cup down again. He was successful in setting it down without spilling it, but his victory was short lived when, trying to pull his shirt off, he hit the side table and made the glass fall over and onto the floor. 

He whined, struggling to get his tangled arms out of his shirt. Marco walked back in, and snorted. "Oh, jeez, you're hopeless." Jean stopped and looked up, pouting, although Marco couldn't see it. Marco gently grabbed both of Jean's arms and slowly guided them to the proper position so that Jean could easily slip out of his shirt. It wasn't rocket science. 

Marco leaned over and grabbed the t-shirt he'd chosen for Jean, shaking it around a bit to unfold it. "You don't need help getting this on, right?" He asked mockingly, before Jean snatched it away from him. Jean would show him, he'd prove Marco wrong. He didn't need his help, he was capable enough. So it was a little difficult pulling a shirt off, but it was a kind of tight shirt anyway. It was a fluke. 

Jean did struggle, and Marco helped him again whether the assistance was wanted or not. It was fine though, Jean liked getting touched by Marco, anyway. But, determined to stop making himself look like a helpless child, Jean rolled over and started to unbutton and unzip his pants. He could get pants off like it was nobody's business. 

Or, not. After a few minutes of leg flailing and frustrated kicking, Jean had gotten his pants only half way down his thighs. He froze as he felt his ankles being held, and looked up to see Marco's smirking face. "Y'know... I really hope you remember all of this tomorrow." He said before grabbing both pant legs and effortlessly pulling the pants off of Jean's legs. 

Marco was helping Jean undress. This would probably never happen again. "Shushh." Jean whined, grabbing the pajama bottoms and taking a few moments to squirm into them. Every time Jean struggled, he had to groan and swat Marco's hands away. He wasn't getting help again. 

When Jean had finally gotten the pajamas up enough to be considered on, Marco took the dirty clothes, and the empty cup, and left again. Jean pressed his head into one of Marco's pillows, grumpy that he'd needed Marco's stupid help to get some stupid clothes off and on. Maybe Marco liked watching Jean be so helpless and needy, the sadistic asshole. Revenge for how much Jean teased him the other day. 

"Now, tryyy not to spill this one, okay?" Marco asked as he came back in with the cup refilled, setting it down on the side table and bending down to clean up the water that was all over the floor. Jean didn't want to drink more water, but he'd realized he was actually pretty damn thirsty. Settling for less, again; The story of Jean's whole life. 

When Marco was finished cleaning up, he pulled one of the chairs in his room over towards the bed. Then he picked up some of the blankets and covered up to Jean's waist with them, tucking them under Jean's legs a bit too. Jean didn't complain, he just kept sipping water in silence. 

Marco sat on the chair and looked down at the floor, "I uh, I'm sorry, Jean. I really shouldn't have left you all alone for hours." Jean stared at him, not able to register a proper response. Marco continued anyway, "I don't even have a good excuse. I just thought you'd be fine on your own. Well, no. I was just trying to, I dunno, make friends without you? That sounds shitty, and it is! I'm sorry, I should have checked on you or something...." 

Jean put the empty glass down, still with no response. He didn't know what he was feeling. Marco looked up, guilt on his face, "Something awful could have happened to you-- You could have hurt yourself! I mean look, you could barely even walk straight. I know you're drunk but, can you forgive me?" 

After a moment of tense silence, Jean bent over the bed and threw up most of the water he'd just been drinking. Ah, _that's_ how he'd been feeling. Not emotions, just nausea. "Ohhh, Jean. I'm so sorry." Marco got up and leaned over, rubbing Jean's back slowly. The gesture would have been appreciated, but Jean's throat was burning, and his stomach hurt. "Uhhg, w-water...." Jean whispered, spitting out the flavor of whatever stomache acid and bile was. 

Without a word, Marco grabbed the empty cup and left the room again. Jean was holding onto the rims of the trashcan so hard, it hurt. It was bullshit, the whole situation was complete shit and he didn't understand why it had to be so damn awful. Why'd he have to keep throwing up? Why did alcohol hate him? Jean cursed the Kool-Aid he'd consumed. He should have known that Kool-Aid at a party would only bring him hell. 

Marco came back with several bottles of water and a hand towel, "I don't wanna have to leave you a bunch so, I just got these." He set most of the water bottles down on the floor, and handed one to Jean. "I know you might throw up again but, here." Jean sat up, letting go of the trash can. He was still heaving, but he took the water bottle anyway, practically tearing off the cap before chugging it. 

"Don't drink it too fast! What if you vomit again? Slow down!" Marco panicked, his hand being slapped away by Jean. Once the bottle was empty, Jean dropped it and panted, "It, it _hurts_ , my stomach hurts and it's killing me." He whimpered and sunk back into the comfort of the bed sheets. 

Marco frowned as he handed Jean another water bottle, "My mom said there's no point in taking any medicine because, it'll just upset your stomach and you'll throw it up anyway. I'm sorry... I'm really sorry." He leaned forward, wiping the saliva and water off of Jean's chin with the hand towel. Jean would have complained or pushed Marco away, but he was so thirsty he decided to just pop open the next water bottle and drink it. 

If this was what alcohol meant, Jean would never touch the stuff again. Chicken Marsala at restaurants? Nope, never again. The wine's cooked out? Too bad, Jean wasn't going to take any chances. He'd been sick before, but this was fucking horrible. Was Jean just supposed to keep drinking water, to keep throwing up, so he'd have to drink more water, just to throw up again? What kind of hellish cycle was that!? 

"S'fine." Jean breathed as he polished off the second bottle, tossing it into the trashcan. Marco winced, "I was gonna recycle that...." Jean stared at him for a moment, before picking up the other empty bottle and throwing it at him. Marco snorted and picked up another water bottle, but pulled it away as Jean tried to reach for it, "Drink it slower this time, okay?"

Jean nodded just before blatantly disregarding Marco's advice, guzzling the water as if it were the air he needed to breathe. Marco bit the insides of his cheeks, but said nothing as he leaned back in his chair. Things would be fine. This was fine. 

Sure, Jean was being hard to deal with, but he had Marco there to take care of him, and Jean loved that. Maybe on a lesser level than he would if he were sober, but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Marco would say things, and talk to him, and even though Jean wasn't really listening to it all, he appreciated Marco's company. This was much better than what probably would have happened if he went home. Screaming, more screaming, some screaming, and then having to talk to his Nana on the phone so she could scold him and tell him to pray to God for forgiveness. Bleh, gross. 

Marco must have noticed when Jean was getting pretty tired, because he started to move all the water bottles to night stand. "Hey, why don't you lay down a little more?" He asked, un-tucking the covers from under Jean's legs. Jean pouted, but readjusted himself to be lying down in a more comfortable position, letting Marco recover him with the blankets. "You leavin'?" Jean muttered, barely able to keep his eyes open. 

"Do you realize what time it is? You're tired, I'm tired.... I need to go take a shower, and then go to bed. I'm gonna sleep in the living room tonight though, alright?" Marco explained, moving away from the bed and flicking the light switch. "Heyyy!" Jean protested, "Where's, where's my goodnight kiss?" 

Marco looked at Jean for a moment, and sighed. The only light shining in the room was from the moonlight and street lamps outside. Not enough for Jean to know what the expression on Marco's face had been when Jean asked. Marco walked back over to the bed again, leaned down, and gave Jean a small kiss on the forehead. 

Jean bit his lip before snickering, " _Gaaay_. Marco you, are a freckly little _fruit_ cake! Mmm I'm gonna tell everyone!" Jean was smiling like a fool, but Marco looked like he was the one who wanted to laugh. "Alright, goodnight Jean." Marco said as he walked away. "'Niiight, love you!" Jean called after him, not thinking twice about it. Marco turned his head, "Yeah, uh huh, love you too." 

He wanted to say more, but Marco closed the door before Jean got the chance. Left in the dark, alone, Jean couldn't resist the allure of sleep any longer. He'd think of something to say to Marco in the morning. Yeah, in the morning for sure. 

* * *

Jean woke up the next morning, exhausted and confused. Something was off. The way things smelled was off, it was as if he weren't even in his own room. He opened his eyes, but squeezed them shut again after feeling blinded. He sat up and then gasped, his head reeling with pain. "What, the _fuck_?" 

He started feeling around whatever bed he was on, and he knew that it definitely wasn't his. The mattress was too soft, too comfortable. The blankets were thick and heavy. And, there were... three pillows on the bed. Jean only slept with two. Where the hell was he? What happened? 

That's when it hit Jean; He didn't remember a damn thing. The party, he remembered he went to the party. There was a dog, Sprinkles. And then? Then what? _Then what_? Where was he!? "Hello-- ooohh god." Shouting turned out to be an absolutely terrible idea. Jean decided to very slowly and gradually open one of his eyes to adjust to the light, then maybe he'd be able to see where he was. 

"Jean, you're up!" At that, Jean made the mistake of opening both of his eyes again. For a second he saw Marco, but the light felt like getting stabbed through the eyes and straight into his brain. He whimpered and slapped both of his hands over his face to block as much light from getting to him as possible. 

Okay, so Marco was there. Things made a little more sense now, he must have been in Marco's bed. But then, why was he in Marco's bed? He hadn't slept in Marco's bed in a long time, so...? Did he confess his love for Marco last night and then have sweet gentle cuddles as they fell asleep together? "Stop yelling, Marco," Jean whispered, trying to spare his ears any more pain, "I don't remember anything, wh-what am I doing here? What happened?" 

Jean peeked from behind one of his hands to see what was going on, watching as Marco sat on the edge of the bed, holding out his hand. "I know you're probably confused but, take these okay?" Marco whispered back, handing over some pills. Jean hesitantly took them and stared, trying to determine what Marco'd just handed him. Advil. Okay. 

Bad memory. Sound hurts. Light hurts. His mouth tastes like it hasn't been washed in a month. "Marco, do I have a hangover?" Jean asked in fear, imagining all of the absolutely terrible things he could have done. 

Marco gave Jean a sheepish smile, "Yes? Yes." Jean would have started crying if he didn't have such an awful headache. "How bad? How bad was I? What happened? Wh-- Wait a minute, why the fuck don't _you_ have a hangover?" Jean asked, popping the Advil in his mouth and dry swallowing them to emphasize his seriousness, and maybe, to pretend he was taking his hangover like a champ. But he didn't look serious. He looked like he was in pain. Dry swallowing pills was always a bad idea. 

"I drank water the whole time, I don't know what you drank but you said it was Kool-Aid." Marco explained as he reached over to grab a water bottle off the side table. Jean nodded gently in agreement, "Yeah, figures Kool-Aid would make me break the law. It had to happen sooner or later. But really, man, how bad was I? Be honest. Be brutal with me." He took the water bottle from Marco and started drinking it. Water never felt better on his throat. 

Marco rubbed his knees and exhaled, then looked Jean in the eyes, "You were completely shit faced." Jean nearly choked on his water, almost dropping the bottle after what he'd just heard. "I _what_? Why'd you let me get that drunk!?" Jean said as quietly as he could without hurting his own ears. What kind of asshole could Marco be if he sat there drinking water as Jean apparently drank enough to get fucking _destroyed_ by alcohol?

It's not like Jean would drink alcohol willingly, not unless he was peer pressured into doing so. If Marco wasn't drinking alcohol, then why would Jean get drunk? To impress him? Never, Jean may have been a filthy banana fucking sinner, but he'd never drink alcohol for such a stupid reason. He had his limits, as hard as it may have been to believe. 

Marco frowned at that, looking away with guilt in his eyes, "About that.... I sort of... ditched you at the party. I didn't really plan on it but, I dunno, I just thought it'd be better for us to do our own thing. And then, like, four hours later you found me and you were a complete mess. You were throwing up and everything, I nearly called an ambulance for you." 

Jean narrowed his eyes, completely confused. He must have been dreaming. There was no way Marco would have just left him, right? Not without a better reason than the bullshit one that just crawled out of his mouth, right? "You don't have to lie to me, Marco. I get it. You found someone hot to make out with. Did'ya play spin the bottle?" Jean teased, trying to coax the real answer out of him. 

But Marco didn't change his story, or even try to correct Jean. "Well for the rest of the night you were a mess. Nothing you said made much sense. You called yourself a lot of names, and you cried a lot. My dad told me I'm lucky you're not an angry drunk because then you probably would have tried to fight me. I don't think he realizes how weak you are though. I mean, it wouldn't be much of a fight, am I wrong?"

Jean imagined for a moment what it would be like if he actually tried to fight someone. He could probably win if they were shorter than him, but Marco was tall all thanks to those tree trunks he called legs. All Marco would have to do is kick Jean or just, step on him or something. Fight over. "Yeah it wouldn't be much of a fight, I'd kick your ass. Easy peasy." 

"You sound veeery convincing, with your squinty eyes and your gentle baby voice. You wanna fight me with a hangover?" Marco asked, getting up as if he were ready to go right then and there. Jean grunted and took another sip of water. He would have played along but he wasn't even sure he could stand yet. Just sitting up earlier was a real pain. 

It made Jean wonder why he was in Marco's house, and not his own. Did Jean lose his keys, and then they stayed out so late that his mom was asleep and couldn't come to the door? "Hey, why'm I here and not at home?" Jean asked as he put the water bottle down, slowly removing the covers off of himself. He really needed to pee, and brush his teeth. 

Marco backed away, giving Jean the space to actually stand. He didn't look very happy anymore, either. "Well, I'm sort of grounded. And I didn't want you to get in trouble with your mom when you were still drunk, so I asked my dad if you could spend the night. We're actually supposed to...." All the joy seemed to be drained from Marco's entire demeanor, and Jean could tell. 

He didn't know what happened last night, and he was terrified about the details he figured Marco was too kind to share. But if something happened to make Marco look so glum, Jean wanted to know about it. "We're supposed to what, Marco? What happened last night dude?" Jean slowly got out of the bed, squeezing his eyes shut to reduce the pain from all the light assaulting him. 

"I'm supposed to 'explain' to your mom how it's my fault that you got drunk and lied to my parents, and then I'm grounded for the next four weeks." Marco said, letting out an exasperated sigh afterwards. Jean didn't understand how Marco could act so chill about things, if he were Marco he'd be furious! Just hearing that pissed him off. "What!?" Jean shouted, immediately groaning and cursing himself for yelling again. 

In a quieter voice, Jean continued, "This isn't your fault if you weren't even with me last night, and you didn't know there was gonna be alcohol there, Ymir said there wouldn't be. I don't know who her stupid girlfriend is, but this is _her_ fault and Ymir's. Four weeks is fucking excessive, especially for your parents." 

Marco just shrugged and started walking towards the door, and Jean followed. It would be nice if they had a relationship where they told each other everything, but Jean's own feelings for Marco were enough for him to understand that there were some things, plenty of them, that you don't want even your best friends knowing. That didn't mean Jean couldn't be upset about it though. If something was upsetting Marco, he wanted to know what it was. 

They stopped at the linen closet outside of the bathroom, and Marco pulled some clothes out of it. "Here's your clothes from last night, we washed them for you. I'm gonna wait downstairs. Then my parents can drive us to your place, okay?" Marco handed the clothes to Jean and walked away, and Jean didn't have the time to come up with something to say. But if Marco wasn't up for talking, Jean didn't have the energy yet to fight him on it. 

* * *

The ominous feeling had followed Jean from the moment he got dressed up until now, as they all got out of the car and walked towards Jean's house. Part of him was glad to be out of the car, because the tense silence was torture even if it was only for a few minutes. But now, Jean would have to face his mother, and he knew she'd be livid. She was a sweet and forgiving woman, but she had no tolerance for breaking rules, laws included. Jean knew that he was going to disappoint, anger, and sadden her like he hadn't ever before. 

Marco got off with four weeks of being grounded, but his family's version of grounding was very different from Jean's. Marco would get to keep his phone and still get to go jogging, and study with friends under supervision of his parents. Jean was going to be under prison lock down, and that was if his mother took pity on him.

But Jean didn't even bother to stall as they reached the front door. He took his house keys out of his pocket and unlocked the door, turning the knob and pushing it open just like any other time. It hurt that as he walked into the house, his mother was in the kitchen with a smile on her face. She must have been baking.

She noticed the group of people who'd entered the house and turned, "Oh Jeany, you're home! And you brought, Marco's family?" She asked, the excitement in her voice turning to concern as she walked to the entryway to greet them.

Marco's mother cleared her throat, prompting Marco to explain. Which, Jean still didn't think Marco had to take the blame for Jean getting drunk. Even if Marco hadn't been there to supervise him, dozens of other people were at that party and could have told him there was alcohol in whatever he was drinking. "Um, so... last night, when I texted you to ask if Jean could sleep over, it was because Jean got really, really, drunk last night and I wanted him to get sober before going home."

Jean braced himself, but didn't move to cover his ears even though he knew there would be yelling. " _Jeany!_ Is what Marco is saying true? You had _alcohol_!? You promised me you'd be safe at that party, how could you break the law like that!? You should be thanking Marco and his parents for not calling the police! I raised you so much better than this Jean!" 

The pain was unreal, and Jean was trying his best not to look like he was about to cry. He liked to pretend he was tough and could handle difficult situations, but really, Jean hated getting yelled at and couldn't stand being humiliated like this. Getting yelled at was bad enough on its own, but in front of Marco _and_ Marco's parents? It was a lot of emotional pain to carry on top of the physical pain from his hangover.

"Well!? Do you have anything to say to me?" Jean's mother snapped, looking down at him. And Jean wanted to say a lot of things, but he had a limit to how much he could say under this much stress without crying. "I didn't _know_ what I was drinking was alcoholic until it was too late, alright? I didn't know. Can you please stop yelling it _hurts, okay_?" Jean muttered, unable to look at his mother. He knew if he did then her glaring would just hurt him even more. 

His mother only scoffed, "Oh it hurts, does it? Go upstairs to your room right now and don't you come back down here until I tell you you can, understand?" Jean immediately obeyed, thankful that she had lowered her voice that time. "I don't understand, how did this happen?" He could hear his mother asking someone else, but he wasn't prepared to eavesdrop on a conversation. He wasn't going to disobey his mother no matter how nosy he was. 

Jean waited quietly in his room, lying underneath his blankets to block out any light or noise. It just wasn't fair to him that he was getting yelled at for something he didn't even know had been happening to him. And Marco had to get in trouble for it too? The more Jean thought about it, the more he hated it. He wished he remembered what had happened last night. He wished he knew what the fuck it was that Marco was keeping from him. 

He was getting punished for a night he couldn't even _remember_. It was like it didn't even happen, and if what Marco said was true, why should he get in trouble? Jean didn't want to get drunk, Marco didn't know there would be alcohol, so what was the fucking point of scolding them like this? To be humiliated? Jean didn't even want to be at that damn party. 

Jean thought that if he ever saw Ymir again, he'd give her a good kick in the ass. She wouldn't be able to do anything back, either, because Jean was a minor and beating on minors was illegal or something. 

At some point, Jean heard his door open, but he was too upset to show that he was still awake. He'd let his mother confiscate all of the things that made Jean happy and let it be done with. Jean never had to be told he was grounded, if he did something worthy of being grounded, he would know. Grounding, for Jean's family? No electronics. No hobbies. No going outside except to go to and from school or for chores. No dessert. 

And Jean's favorite, a trip to Nana's so that he could get dragged off to church "to reflect". Jean's mother wasn't really Catholic, but she'd still been raised Catholic and forced Jean to experience church growing up. But he had nothing to feel guilty for! Nothing that he could remember at least, and that was the worst part of all of this. Jean couldn't remember, no matter how hard he tried. 

"Where is your phone Jean?" His mother asked, and Jean winced at the realization that he hadn't been very convincing in pretending he was sleeping. He pulled his phone out from his pocket and held it out from his blanket sanctuary. Once it was out of his hand, he immediately pulled his arm back and went back to pretending he wasn't there. 

Jean wanted to ask how long he was grounded for, but he didn't want to risk getting into an argument. He'd just have to wait until his mother told him, or all of his things were returned to his room. Because that was totally fair. His mother must have finished shoving all of Jean's things into a bin, "My book club meeting is today, you know that. I don't have time to lock all of your things away, so I hope you don't think it's a good idea to try using anything before I get back." 

He decided to ignore her, since she hadn't asked him for anything. But perhaps she was waiting for some kind of response, because she waited a moment before continuing, "I'll be home by seven. Goodbye, remember to be safe, I love you." Yeah, Jean was _definitely_ going to ignore that. He wasn't about to pretend like he wasn't completely ticked off that he was grounded and exchange worthless obligatory 'family always loves each other' phrases. 

So, he waited. He waited until he could hear the front door close, and then he waited some more. He was tired of this awful hangover, he couldn't even tell anyone else about how much it sucked. He couldn't ask Marco or anyone else what he did the night before. Maybe it was the hangover making him irritable, but Jean just couldn't let go of it. Time passed and it only pissed Jean off even more.

Jean groaned, pushing the blankets off of himself. He needed a nice boiling hot shower to calm down. He needed to brush the acidic feel and taste from his mouth. He needed to fucking break something he wouldn't get in trouble for breaking later. 

Jean kept his eyes nearly closed as he made his way to the bathroom, and didn't even bother to turn the bathroom light on when he got there. It was too bright as it was anyway, he could brush his teeth in a barely lit room. Turning the water to warm so that he'd be sure that all the gross acid and germs would wash out of his mouth, Jean rinsed his toothbrush and then smothered the brush in toothpaste.

As Jean aggressively brushed his teeth, he tried to think about the party. He tried hard to remember something new, or different about it. But there was just nothing. Nothing past what little he remembered. That fucking party stole hours of his life away and he couldn't even remember taking a single drink. What was the point of getting so drunk? He didn't even get anything out of it. It wasn't like he'd made out with Marco, it wasn't like he had sex with Marco, so what was the fucking point?

Just as Jean thought about it, he looked down at his toothbrush in his hand. He stared about it for a moment. No, no he thought about it for a _second_ and then spit the toothpaste out of his mouth. "Fuck it." He hissed, running the toothbrush under the warm water before slathering it in lots of soap. He scrubbed it almost violently, making sure to get in every nook and cranny of it.

When he was sure it was sanitized enough, Jean popped the brush portion of the toothbrush off and left it in the sink. He didn't need that part, he just needed the part that would maybe feel nice inside of him. As much as he wanted to slam his hand down on the faucet to turn it off, he decided to do it gently as to not agitate his headache. Fueled by a frustrated, angry kind of confusion, Jean ripped one of the towels that was hanging on the door hook and headed back into his room to do yet another unspeakable deed. 

Maybe one day Jean would learn that this kind of thing had to stop, but not today, not right now. He made sure to lock his door before getting started, because he definitely didn't want to be interrupted. Jean laid the towel out on his bed, tossing the toothbrush onto it afterwards. Then he peeled all of his clothes off and grabbed the Vaseline out of his drawer.

It was still bright out, so Jean decided to do all of his preparation under his many layers of blankets. He couldn't see, but so what? He was just masturbating. Shove a thing up your ass and move it around, touch your dick a little, orgasm. None of those things required eyes. All he needed was determination and some form of lube, and he had both of those. As quickly as he could, Jean covered the toothbrush in as much lube as he could, until he ended up just wiping more onto his hands rather than the toothbrush.

Jean pushed the bottle and cap of Vaseline out from his cover and winced as he heard them crash to the floor. It didn't matter to him, he'd fuck this hangover out of his body. He got into his usual position, lying on his back and spreading his legs. He closed his eyes and nestled his head on his pillow, and started to quickly rub his greased fingers all around his asshole. But he was so irritated and in pain that he didn't give himself time to get aroused. 

No he was going to get straight to the point. If he waited, there was no way he was going to get hornier, he'd just get more angry. He started to finger himself and tried to build a fantasy for himself. It was dark, which helped keep him from getting distracted by his surroundings. He didn't want to resort to thinking about Marco again, that would probably just bother him even more. But then Jean just scoffed and started to stretch two of his fingers inside of him. If he couldn't get off without a fantasy then he'd just masturbate until he got bored. 

Jean was a fucking amateur, and as much as he wasn't aroused by pain, he was willing to put himself through a ton of it just to get his frustration out today. He pushed a third finger into himself and pressed them against his walls, making him start to feel genuine arousal. At least he was getting somewhere. As he pushed around and stretched his fingers apart inside him, Jean began to push his heels into the mattress and lift his hips a little bit every now and then. 

It felt good, but with his hangover and emotions getting in the way? He needed that toothbrush in him. He refused to touch his dick until he'd gotten the toothbrush inside him and fucked himself on it for a while, otherwise what point did he have in using it? Jean wasn't doing this for an orgasm, he was doing it to relax. Having an orgasm meant no more masturbating because he was always weak and fucking exhausted afterwards. 

When he felt like he'd stretched himself enough, Jean pulled his fingers out of his ass and reached for the toothbrush. He didn't take his time, he just pushed the base of it where his entrance was, and shoved it in. It was thick, cold, but ridiculously smooth. Jean opened one of his eyes to look down and see how much he would really be able to push into himself. His eyes weren't adjusted to the dark because he'd had them closed for so long, so Jean decided to just push it in until it couldn't really go anymore. Then he'd turn it on.

But as Jean pushed it in, he'd realized a possible mistake. He popped off the brush attachment, the plastic was smooth, and his hands were covered in Vaseline. _Now_ how was he supposed to take it out? Jean thought for a minute, gently wiggling the toothbrush in circles to keep him aroused.

He decided that well, he didn't care. In fact, it gave him an idea. Jean lifted his head up and took one of the pillows from underneath it, and then raised his hips up to place the pillow under him there. He wouldn't need to create a fantasy of being fucked, definitely not today. Jean let his hips rest down on the pillow, and then took a deep breath. 

Jean was going to fuck himself with the toothbrush even if it killed him, which sounded excessive, but frustration is as frustration does. It didn't have to make sense, it just had to _feel good_. 

He turned on the toothbrush, and immediately yelped in surprise. The gentle vibration inside him made his dick harden, and his stomach tighten up. It felt fucking weird, but really good at the same time. He could feel himself sweating more, and the small space he'd made for himself became a little harder to breathe in. 

This wasn't even the best part, not in Jean's plan, no, this was just the beginning. He reached both of his hands forward and grabbed the end of the pillow that wasn't underneath his waist. He pulled it up and towards him, in between his legs and then pressed it down over his dick. Yes there'd be pressure put on it, but the entire point of this wasn't to put friction there. 

Jean gripped the pillow tightly, and then thrust his hips upward and into the pillow, the pressure pushed on the toothbrush and forced it further inside of him, and Jean felt a wave of pleasure run through him. This was the best idea he'd ever had. This was going to be an _adventure_ whether he regretted it later or not.

Ignoring the occasional throb of pain in his head, Jean took a few deep breaths and started to thrust his hips upward some more, gripping onto the pillow as hard as he could. The toothbrush would slip out a little, only to be forced straight back into him from the pressure of the pillow as he thrust up into it. 

Jean was gasping and struggling to keep a steady rhythm after only a few minutes, but he didn't want to stop. So he kept going, thrusting faster and harder, the pillow doing wonders for the vibrating toothbrush inside him _and_ his dick. His thighs were sweaty and burning from the constant friction, but it was okay. It was all okay.

Every thrust practically took the wind out of him, and he felt like his chest was just fluttering from the rush. Maybe those were heart palpitations? Jean didn't know and he didn't care, he was a hot mess inside and out, sweat making it harder for him to thrust, but the burning sensation in his stomach making his need to do so that much greater. He didn't know how much longer he could keep it up. But he knew he was definitely getting closer.

Jean let go of the pillow with his left hand, and bunched up some of the blanket near his head to press onto his face. He'd hold his breath. He could feel everything so much better when he didn't stop to inhale air. Having to hold onto the pillow with only his right hand would be difficult, but Jean was so eager he didn't care, he just squeezed as hard as he could until it hurt, before thrusting his hips upward as hard and fast as he could at this point. 

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to hold out just a little longer, overwhelmed with all of the pain in his stomach. The tingling buzz inside him from the toothbrush hitting him inside at the same spot over and over again, even harder now, driving him crazy. Just a little more, just a bit harder. 

Jean whined into his blanket, and with one last hard thrust he let go of everything, gasping hard for air as he felt the pain in his stomach melt away as he came. Jean couldn't even feel his right hand anymore he'd been clenching the pillow in his hand so hard. He wanted to stay just like that, letting the little waves of pleasurable sensation come and go. To let his tense legs collapse onto the bed and rest.... 

But the toothbrush was still on, and the gentle vibrating was ruining Jean's few minutes of calm after a nice, good orgasm that he liked to have. Jean's right hand was mostly dry now, but it was practically numb. His left hand wasn't doing so hot, either. Maybe Jean should have cared more ten minutes ago. 

Jean whined and tried to spread his legs further apart, and reached down with his right hand to try and pull it out. His hands slipped on the well greased plastic, and Jean felt shame wash over him as he thought about what might happen if he couldn't get it out. There was no way he'd be able to stick his finger inside him to turn it off, either. 

He slowly pushed the blankets off of him, squeezing his eyes shut to avoid the sunlight. The cool air on his hot, sweaty skin made Jean shiver and tense. It only made his situation worse, as he knew now there was only one way to get the toothbrush out of him.

Jean whimpered as he tried to move his legs, which were still stiff at the knees and burnt raw at his thighs. How was he going to make it to the bathroom, where the brush head was waiting for him to save him from his mistakes? Jean wanted to cry, the uncomfortable vibrating was getting him hard again, and he wasn't up for another round of sinning. 

Slowly but surely, Jean crawled out of his bed, practically blind since he could only open his eyes a little bit. He tried to stand up and immediately regretted it, the toothbrush still stuck up his ass making it painful. Jean was embarrassed beyond belief, as he started to slowly half-crouch towards his door. Completely naked, and sweaty, and vulnerable to slipping on the floor. If he slipped, he could accidentally land on his ass and shove the toothbrush though his intestines or something, and Jean obviously didn't want that. He didn't want this story to be told in the local obituaries. Jean could imagine the blurb, "Local bi teenage boy shoves a toothbrush up his ass, dies while sinning".

But the more Jean moved, the more the vibration bothered him. It was sort of turning him on, but it was also kind of painful? It wasn't a fun mix and it made it more difficult to move. Jean let a few tears escape from his eyes at the idea of salvation as he got closer to the bathroom. When he got into the bathroom, he quickly moved his hand around in the sink before grabbing the brush head. 

He couldn't tell which way the brush head should've been rotated so that he could attach it to the neck of the toothbrush, but he couldn't bear the vibrating anymore! He decided to just push it against it and twist it until it clicked. But the process was almost even worse, and Jean couldn't help but feel shame as the pressure of trying to reattach the head to the brush arouse him all over again. 

The more desperate he got, the more pressure he put on it, and with one final twist and push, Jean whimpered in pain as the toothbrush was completed. Then he slowly started to wiggle and pull the toothbrush out of him, feeling a strange throbbing and numbness inside of him once it was out. Jean dropped the toothbrush onto the floor and collapsed to his knees, leaning against the cabinet under the sink. 

Jean looked at himself in the mirror, and then looked away in embarrassment. He couldn't look at himself. He was so gross. Jean could barely move anymore, his chest was heaving now that he was finally able to breathe normally again, and the lower half of his body just seemed completely dysfunctional. Jean took a glance at the shower and sighed. He knew he'd have to rinse off, but he wasn't sure he'd be able to get out afterwards if he did.

He really, _really_ needed to stop doing this. 

* * *

Nothing could make Jean's Monday worse than the constant stabbing pain in his stomach, and the raw pain in his ass. He could barely walk throughout the day, and having to carry all of his school supplies from class to class? Mmhm, not very fun. At some point during the day someone had elbowed Jean in the stomach, and Jean had to fight back tears as he nearly collapsed onto the floor.

Furiously masturbating? Good. Jamming a vibrating toothbrush up your ass until it pushes against your organs? Jean wouldn't recommend that one. He was sure that he probably wasn't dying, and that maybe if he were a girl he'd be less of a baby when it came to stomach pains, but Jean wasn't a girl. He was a very stupid, sinful teenage boy who liked to stick fun things inside him like fruit and personal hygiene products. 

Not to mention, sitting down was a pain in the ass. Pun fully intended. Someone had joked that Jean must have had some really great sex last night, and it made Jean cringe in embarrassment considering the sad truth of the matter. The sad truth being both that Jean was too hideous to get a date, and that he'd shamelessly masturbated with a toothbrush. 

Jean didn't want any of his friends to see him like that, and he certainly didn't want to give anyone enough time to ask for an explanation. But he was still grounded, and Jean still didn't know for how long. If he wanted to talk to Marco, he'd have to do it at school. So he'd made his way, as quickly as his aching body could take him, over to Marco's locker before 6th period so that he could catch Marco on his way to Italian class. 

Marco always stalled at his locker before Italian, and Jean wasn't sure why. Wasn't it the language of love or something? Or was that French? Spanish? Whatever. Jean tried to walk as normally as possible once he got into Marco's sights, but it wasn't working. "What happened to you?" Marco asked, looking Jean up and down. 

Jean leaned up against the locker next to Marco's, "Ah well, y'know, my mom pushed me down the stairs as punishment for getting drunk." Marco looked at Jean, sucking in his left cheek and chewing on it. Clearly, he couldn't tell if Jean was kidding or just exaggerating. "It was a _joke_. Really I just, slipped in the shower yesterday."

Marco smiled at that, "Okay, that I can believe. But how much trouble did you get in? I tried texting you last night but you didn't say anything, so I assumed you were grounded." Jean sighed and nodded in agreement. "Yeah, I don't even know for how long. What about you? You're clearly more stressed than usual." Jean gently pointed to Marco's face, trying to be subtle. 

"Huh? Oh, you mean it's that obvious? I thought I covered them up...." Marco blushed, turning to hide the left side of his face. It was only a few pimples, Jean didn't think they were that bad. Not as bad as the kind of break outs Jean would get when he was really stressed. "Calm down Mr. Perfect, no one's gonna really care about those little things. I was just asking because you must be stressed to the max if _you're_ breaking out." 

Marco turned to face Jean again, "Whatever you say, but, anyway.... Last night I told my parents that Ymir told me about the party, and so they added another two weeks to my grounding for lying to them, but then because Ymir was the one who told us there wouldn't be alcohol, they shaved those two weeks off again. Then when they made Ymir come home, she said her girlfriend didn't buy any alcohol for the party, so someone must've brought their own. Then Ymir yelled at me a lot. Haha." 

It sounded like an awful lot of shit to deal with, and Jean was glad that he didn't have to go through a shouting match with his mother. "Don't do that sad fake laugh thing at the end, man, it's depressing. Want me to steal some of my mom's uh, banana bread for you tomorrow?" Jean tried not to shudder at the mention of bananas, but Marco really liked fresh banana bread, and clearly he needed something to cheer him up and relax him. 

"You sure you won't get in trouble for that?" Marco asked with concern on his face. Jean knew better, though, Marco was hiding his excitement. "Yeah it'll be fine. I'm not allowed to have dessert, but that doesn't mean I can't take them and give them to someone else. Talk to you later? Er, tomorrow?" Jean was so used to being able to speak with Marco on the phone or skype every day after school. 

Marco smiled and nodded, "Yeah, tomorrow. I'll be thinking about that banana bread all night, so don't disappoint me okay?" He closed his locker and started to walk away, and Jean couldn't help but watch. Why did Marco have to be so attractive? Emotionally, sexually, _aesthetically_ , he just had it all going for him. One day, Jean promised to himself, he'd actually tell Marco how he really felt about him, personally, to his face.

And maybe not while drunk. Or half asleep, or even, if it were ever possible, high. No, Jean would do it in a completely normal situation, under normal circumstances. Until then, Marco couldn't know. At least, that's what Jean hoped.

**Author's Note:**

> I was having a hard time thinking about what Jean should use as a dildo for this chapter since I had so many different ideas. But I figured that a vibrating toothbrush would be the next step in Jean's bad ideas, since hey, vibrating dildos are a thing. I also thought that for a change, Jean should have worse consequences to his poor dildo choices than shame. I'm sorry if it wasn't all that humorous/sexy! But I promise, worse, more ridiculous dildo substitutes are to come. Bananas are not as bad as it gets. And, am I the only one who wishes there were more fics where Marco's a little bit of an ass when he doesn't get what he wants and isn't the perfect cinnamon roll? Bring me the sinnamon bun, please!


End file.
